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COUSIN HENEY.

LONDON :

GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, TKINTERS,

ST. JOHN'S SQUABE.

COUSIN HENEY.

By ANTHONY TROLLOPE.

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. 11.

HontJon :
CHAPMAN AND HALL,

139, PICCADILLY.
1879.

CONTENTS,

CHAPTER I.

PAGK

The "Carmarthen Herald" . . . 1

CHAPTER II.
An Action for Libel .... 20

CHAPTER III.
Cousin Henry makes another Attempt . 39

CHAPTER IV.
Again at Hereford 58

CHAPTER V.
Mr. Cheekey . . . . . .74

CHAPTER VI,
Cousin Henry goes to Carmarthen . . 94

via CONTENTS.

CHAPTER VII.

PA as

Mr. Apjohn sends for Assistance . .113

CHAPTEE VIII.
Doubts 132

CHAPTER IX.
Mr. Apjohn's Success . . . .150

CHAPTER X.

How Cousin Henry was let off easily . 169

CHAPTER XT.
Isabel's Petition . . . . .188

CHAPTER XII.
Conclusion 207

COUSIN HENEY.

CHAPTEE I.

THE "CAEMAETHEN HEEALD/'

Theee was a great deal said at Carmarthen
about the old Squire's will. Such scenes as
that which had taken place in the house,
first when the will was produced, then when
the search was made, and afterwards when
the will was read, do not pass without com-
ment. There had been many present, and
some of them had been much moved bj the
circumstances. The feeling that the Squire
had executed a will subsequent to that which
had now been proved was very strong, and

VOL. II. ''/ B

2 COUSIN HENRY.

the idea suggested by Mr. Apjohn that the
Squire himself had^ in the weakness of his lat-
ter moments, destroyed this document, was not
generally accepted. Had he done so, something
of it would have been known. The ashes of
the paper or the tattered fragments would bave
been seen. Whether Mr. Apjohn himself did
or did not believe that it had been so, others
would not think it. Among the tenants and
the servants at Llanfeare there was a general
feeling that something wrong had been done.
They who were most inclined to be charitable
in their judgment, such as John Griffith of
Coed, thought that the document was still hid-
den, and that it might not improbably be
brought to light at last. Others were con*
vinced that it had fallen into the hands of the
present possessor of the property, and that it
had been feloniously but successfully destroyed
No guess at the real truth was made by any one.
How should a man have guessed that the
false heir should have sat there with the will.

THE

as it were, before his eyes, close at his hand,
and neither have destroyed nor revealed its
existence ?

Among those who believed the worst as to
Cousin Henry were the two Cantors. When a
man has seen a thing done himself he'^as prone
to believe in it, — and the more so when he has
had a hand in the doing. They had been
selected for the important operation of witness-
ing the will, and did not in the least doubt that
the will had been in existence when the old
Squire died. It might have been destroyed
since. They believed that it had been de-
stroyed. But they could not be brought to
understand that so great an injustice should
be allowed to remain on the face of the earth
without a remedy or without punishment.
Would it not be enough for a judge to know that
they, two respectable men, had witnessed a new
will, and that this new will had certainly been in
opposition to the one which had been so fraudu-
lently proved ? The younger Cantor especially

B 2

4 COUSIN HENRY.

was loud upon the subject^ and got many ears in
Carmarthen to listen to him.

The Carmarthen Herald, a newspaper bear-
ing a high character throughout South Wales,
took the matter up very strongly, so that it be-
came a question whether the new Squire would
not be driven to defend himself by an action
for libel. It was not that the writer declared
that Cousin Henry had destroyed the will, but
that he published minute accounts of all that
had been done at Llanfeare, putting forward in
every paper as it came out the reason which ex-
isted for supposing that a wrong had been done.
That theory that old Indefer Jones had himself
destroyed his last will without saying a word of
his purpose to any one was torn to tatters.
The doctor had been with him from day to day,
and must almost certainly have known it had
such an intention been in his mind. The house-
keeper would have known it. Henry Jones
himself must have known it. The nephew and
professed heir had said not a word to any one of

THE

what had passed between himself and his uncle.
Could they who had known old Indefer Jones
for so many years^ and were aware that he
had been governed by the highest sense of
honour through his entire life,, could they
bring themselves to believe that he should have
altered the will made in his nephew^s favour,
and then realtered it, going back to his inten-
tions in that nephew^ s favour, without saying a
word to his nephew on the subject? But
Henry Jones had given no account of any
such word. Henry Jones had been silent as to
all that occurred during those last wrecks.
Henry Jones had not only been silent when
the will was being read, when the search was
being made, but had sat there still in con-
tinued silence. " We do not say/^ continued
the writer in the paper, " that Henry Jones
since he became owner of Llanfeare has been
afraid to mingle with his brother men. We
have no right to say so. But we consider it
to be our duty to declare that such has been

•m,

6 COUSIN IIEKI?Y.

the fact. Circumstances will from time to
time occur in wliicli it becomes necessary on
public grounds to inquire into the privacy of
individuals^, and we think that the circum-
stances now as to this property are of this
nature/' As will be the case in such matters,
these expressions became gradually stronger,
till it was conceived to be the object of those
concerned in making them to drive Henry
Jones to seek for legal redress, — so that he
might be subjected to cross-examination as to
the transactions and words of that last fortnight
before his uncle's death. It was the opinion
of many that if he could be forced into a
witness-box, he would be made to confess if
there were anything to confess. The cowardice
of the man became known, — or was rather ex-
aggerated in the minds of those around him.
It was told of him how he lived in the one
room, how rarely he left the house, how totally
he was without occupation. More than the
truth was repeated as to his habits, till all Car-

marthensliire believed that lie was so tram-
melled by some mysterious consciousness of
crime as to be unable to perform any of the
duties of life. When men spoke to him he
trembled ; when men looked at him he turned
away.

All his habits were inquired into. It was
said of him that the Carmarthen Herald was
the only paper that he saw, and declared of him
that he spent hour after hour in spelling the
terrible accusations which, if not absolutely
made against him, were insinuated. It became
clear to lawyers, to Mr. Apjohn himself, that
the man, if honest, should, on behalf of the old
family and long-respected name, vindicate him-
self by prosecuting the owner of the paper
for libel. If he were honest in the matter,
altogether honest, there could be no reason
why he should fear to encounter a hostile law-
yer. There were at last two letters from young
Joseph Cantor printed in the paper which
were undoubtedly libellous, — 'letters which

8 COUSIN HENRY.

young Cantor himself certainly could not have
written, — letters which all Carmarthen knew to
have been written by some one connected with
the newspaper, though signed by the young
farmer, — in which it was positively declared
that the old Squire had left a later will behind
him. When it was discussed whether or no
he could get a verdict, it was clearly shown
that the getting of a verdict should not be the
main object of the prosecution. " He has to
show,^^ said Mr. Apjohn, " that he is not afraid
to face a court of justice."

But he was afraid. When we last parted
with him after his visit to Coed he had not
seen the beginning of these attacks. On the
next day the first paper reached him, and they
who were concerned in it did not spare to send
him the copies as they were issued. Having
read the first, he was not able to refuse to
read what followed. In each issue they were
carried on, and, as was told of him in Carmar-
then, he lingered over every agonizing detail

of the venom wliich was entering into his
soul. It was in vain that he tried to hide the
paper^ or to pretend to be indifferent to its
coming. Mrs. Griffith knew very well where
the paper was_, and knew also that every word
had been perused. The month's notice which
had been accepted from her and the butler in
lieu of the three months first offered had now
expired. The man had gone, but she remained,
as did the two other women. Nothing was said
as to the cause of their remaining ; but they
remained. As for Cousin Henry himself, he
was too weak, too frightened, too completely
absorbed by the horrors of his situation to ask
them why they stayed, or to have asked them
why they went.

He understood every word that was written
of him with sharp, minute intelligence. Though
his spirit was cowed, his mind was still alive to
ail the dangers of his position. Things were
being said of him, charges were insinuated,
which he declared to himself to be false. He

10 COUSIN HENRY.

had not destroyed the will. He had not even
hidden it. He had only put a book into its
own place,, carrying out as he did so his
innocent intention when he had first lifted the
book. When these searchers had come, doing
their work so idly, with such incurious futility,
he had not concealed the book. He had left it
there on its shelf beneath their hands. Who
could say that he had been guilty ? If the will
were found now, who could reasonably'' suggest
that there had been guilt on his part ? If
all were known, — except that chance glance of
his eye which never could be known, — uo one
could say that he was other than innocent !
A.nd yet he knew of himself that he would lack
strength to stand up in court and endure the
sharp questions and angry glances of a keen
lawyer. His very knees would fail to carry him
through the court. The words would stick in
his jaws. He would shake and shiver and faint
before the assembled eyes. It would be easier

11

for him to throw himself from the rocks on
which he had Iain dreaming into the sea than
to go into a court of law and there tell his own
story as to the will. They could not force him
to go. He thought he could perceive as much
as that. The action, if action there were to
be, must originate with him. There was no
evidence on which they could bring a charge of
felony or even of fraud against him. They
could not drag him into the court. But he
knew that all the world would say that if
he were an honest man, he himself would
appear there, denounce his defamers, and
vindicate his own name. As day by day he
failed to do so, he would be declaring his
own guilt. Yet he knew that he could not
do it.

Was there no escape ? He was quite sure
now that the price at which he held the property
was infinitely above its value. Its value ! It
had no value in his eyes. It was simply a curse

12 COUSIN HENEY.

of whicli he would rid himself with the utmost
alacrity if only he could rid himself of all that
had befallen him in achieving it. But how
should he escape ? Were he now himself to
disclose the document and carry it into Car-
marthen, prepared to deliver up the property
to his cousin, was there one who would not
think that it had been in his possession from
before his nucleus death, and that he had now
been driven by his fears to surrender it ? "Was
there one who would not believe that he had
hidden it with his own hands ? How now
could he personate that magnanimity which
would have been so easy had he brought forth
the book and handed it with its enclosure to
Mr. Apjohn when the lawyer came to read the
will?

He looked back with dismay at his
folly at having missed an opportunity so
glorious. But now there seemed to be no
escape. Though he left the room daily, no
one found the will. They were welcome to

THE " CARMARTHEN HERALD." 13

find it if they would, but they did not. That
base newspaper lied of him, — as he told himself
bitterly as he read it, — in saying that he did
not leave his room. Daily did he roam about
the place for an hour or two, — speaking, in-
deed, to no one, looking at no one. There the
newspaper had been true enough. But that
charge against him of self-imprisonment had
been false as far as it referred to days subse-
quent to the rebuke which his housekeeper had
given him. But no one laid a hand upon the
book. He almost believed that, were the
paper left open on the table, no eye would
examine its contents. There it lay still hidden
within the folds of the sermon, that weight
upon his heart, that incubus on his bosom, that
nightmare which robbed him of all his
slumbers, and he could not rid himself of its
presence. Property, indeed ! Oh ! if he were
only back in London, and his cousin reigning
at Llanfeare !

John Griffith, from Coed, had promised to

14 COUSIN HENRY.

call upon him; but when three weeks had
passed by, he had not as yet made his
appearance. Now, on one morning he came
and found his landlord alone in the book-
room. ^^This is kind of you, Mr. Griffith/'
said Cousin Henry, struggling hard to
assume the manner of a man with a light
heart.

" I have come, Mr. Jones,'' said the farmer
very seriously, "to say a few words which I
think ought to be said."

" What are they, Mr. Griffith ?"

^' Now, Mr. Jones, I am not a man as is
given to interfering, — especially not with my
betters."

" I am sure you are not."

" And, above all, not with my own landlord."
Then he paused ; but as Cousin Henry could
not find an appropriate word either for rebuke
or encouragement, he was driven to go on with
his story. " I have been obliged to look at

15

all those things in the Carmarthen Herald."
Then Cousin Henry turned deadly pale. ^'We
have all been driven to look at them. I have
taken the paper these twenty years, but it is
sent now to every tenant on the estate, whether
they pay or whether they don^f . Mrs. Griffith,
there, in the kitchen has it. I suppose they
sent it to you, sir ?"

" Yes ; it does come," said Cousin Henry,
with the faintest attempt at a smile.

" And you have read what they say ?"

'' Yes, the most of it."

'^ It has been very hard, sir." At this
Cousin Henry could only affect a ghastly smile.
'•' Very hard," continued the farmer. '' It has
made my flesh creep as I read it. Do you
know what it all means, Mr. Jones ? "

" I suppose I know."

^^ It means, — that you have stolen, — the
estates, — from your cousin, — Miss Brodrick ! "
This the man said very so.lemnly, bringing out

16 COUSIN HENEY.

eacli single word by itself. ^^ I am not saying
so, Mr. Jones.^'

^^ No, no, no/' gasped the miserable wretcb.

'^ No, indeed. If I thought so, I should not
be here to tell you what I thought. It is
because I believe that you are injured that I
am here.''

" I am injured ; I am injured ! "

"I think so. I believe so. I cannot tell
what the mystery is, if mystery there be ; but
I do not believe that you have robbed that
young lady, your own cousin, by destroying
such a deed as your uncle's will.''

^' No, no, no."

*' Is there any secret that you can tell ? "

Awed, appalled, stricken with utter dis-
may, Cousin Henry sat silent before his
questioner.

^' If there be, sir, had you not better confide
it to some one ? Your uncle knew me well
for more than forty years, and trusted me
thoroughly, and I would fain, if I could, do

I

THE ^' CAEMARTHEN HEEALD/^ 17

something for Ms nephew. If there be any-
thing to tell, tell it like a man/'

Still Cousin Henry sat silent. He was unable
to summon courage at the instant sufficient to
deny the existence of the secret, nor could he
resolve to take down the book and show the
document. He doubted, when the appearance
of a doubt was in itself evidence of guilt
in the eyes of the man who was watching
him. " Oh, Mr. Griffith,^' he exclaimed after a
while, " will you be my friend ? "

" I will indeed, Mr. Jones, if I can, —
honestly.^'

"1 have been cruelly used.''
"It has been hard to bear," said Mr.
Griffith.

" Terrible, terrible ! Cruel, cruel ! " Then
again he paused, trying to make up his
mind, endeavouring to see by what means
he could escape from this hell upon earth. If
there were any means, he might perhaps
achieve it by aid of this man. The man

VOL. II.

18 COUSIN HENRY.

sat silent, watching him, but the way of escape
did not appear to him.

" There is no mystery/^ he gasped at last.

'^ None ? " said the farmer severely.

" No mystery. What mystery should there
be ? There was the will. I have destroyed
nothing. 1 have hidden nothing. I have done
nothing. Because the old man changed his
mind so often, am I to be blamed ? ''

^' Then, Mr. Jones, why do you not say all
that in a court of law, — on your oath ? '^

"How can I do that?"

" Go to Mr. Apjohn, and speak to him like
a man. Bid him bring an action in your name
for libel against the newspaper. Then there
will be an inquiry. Then you will be put into
a witness-box, and be able to tell your own
story on your oath."

Cousin Henry, groaning, pale and affrighted,
murmured out something signifying that he
would think of it. Then Mr. Griffith left
him. The farmer, when he entered the

room, had believed his landlord to be inno-
cent, but that belief had vanished when he took
his leave.

p

C 3

20

CHAPTER II.

AN ACTION FOR LIBEL.

When tlie man had asked liim tliat question^
— Is there any secret you can tell ? — Cousin
Henry did, for half a minute, make up his
mind to tell the whole story, and reveal every-
thing as it had occurred. Then he remem-
bered the lie which he had told, the lie to
which he had signed his name when he had
been called upon to prove the will in Carmar-
then. Had he not by the unconsidered act of
that moment committed some crime for which
he could be prosecuted and sent to gaol ?
Had it not been perjury? From the very
beginning he had determined that he would
support his possession of the property by no

AN ACTION FOE LIBEL. 21

criminal deed. He had not hidden the will in
the book. He had not interfered in the search.
He had done nothing incompatible with inno-
cence. So it had been with him till he had
been called upon, without a moment having
been allowed to him for thinking, to sign his
name to that declaration. The remembrance
of this came to him as he almost made up his
mind to rise from liis seat and pull the book
down from the shelf. And then another
thought occurred to him. Could he not tell
Mr. GriflSth that he had discovered the docu-
ment since he had made that declaration, —
that he had discovered it only on that morn-
ing ? But he had felt that a story such as
that would receive no belief, and he had
feared to estrange his only friend by a pal-
pable lie. He had therefore said that there
was no secret, — had said so after a pause which
had assured Mr. Grifl&th of the existence of a
mystery, — had said so with a face which of itself
had declared the truth.

22 COUSIN HENRY.

When the farmer left him he knew well
enough that the man doubted him^ — nay, that
the man was assured of his guilt. It had
come to be so with all whom he had encoun-
tered since he had first reached Llanfeare.
His uncle who had sent for him had turned
from him ; his cousin had scorned him ; the
tenants had refused to accept him when there
certainly had been no cause for their rejection.
Mr. Apjohn from the first had looked at him
with accusing eyes; his servants were spies
upon his actions ; this newspaper was rending
his very vitals ; and now this one last friend
had deserted him. He thought that if only
he could summon courage for the deed, it
would be best for him to throw himself from
the rocks.

But there was no such courage in him. The
one idea remaining to him was to save him-
self from the horrors of a criminal prosecution.
If he did not himself touch the document, or
give any sign of his consciousness of its pre-

AN ACTION FOR LIBEL. 23

sence, they could not prove that he had known
of its whereabouts. If they would only find
it and let him go ! But they did not find it,
and he could not put them on its trace. As
to these wicked libels, Mr. Grifiith had asked
him why he did not have recourse to a court of
law, and refute them by the courage of his
presence. He understood the proposition in
all its force. Why did he not show himself
able to bear any questions which the ingenuity
of a lawyer could put to him ? Simply be-
cause he was unable to bear them. The truth
would be extracted from him in the process.
Though he should have fortified himself with
strongest resolves, he would be unable to hide
his guilty knowledge. He knew that of him-
self. He would be sure to give testimony
against himself, on the strength of which he
would be dragged from the witness-box to the
dock.

He declared to himself that, let the news-
paper say what it would, he would not of his

24 COUSIN HENRY.

own motion throw himself among the lion^s
teeth which were prepared for him. But in so
resolving he did not know what further external
force might be applied to him. When the
old tenant had sternly told him that he
should go like a man into the witness-box and
tell his own story on his oath, that had been
hard to bear. But there came worse than
that> — a power more difficult to resist. On
the following morning Mr. Apjohn arrived
at Llanfeare, having driven himself over from
Carmarthen, and was at once shown into the
book-room. The lawyer was a man who, by
his friends and by his clients in general, was
considered to be a pleasant fellow as well as a
cautious man of business. He was good at a
dinner-table, serviceable with a gun, and
always happy on horseback. He could catch
a fish, and was known to be partial to a
rubber at whist. He certainly was not re-
garded as a hard or cruel man. But Cousin
Henry, in looking at him, had always seen a

AN ACTION FOE LIBEL. 25

sternness in his eye^ some curve of a frown
upon his brow, which had been uncomfort-
able to him. From the beginning of their
intercourse he had been afraid of the lawyer.
He had felt that he was looked into and scru-
tinized, and found to be wanting. Mr. Apjohn
had, of course, been on Isabel^s side. All
Carmarthenshire knew that he had done his
best to induce the old squire to maintain
Isabel as his heiress. Cousin Henry was well
aware of that. But still why had this attor-
ney always looked at him with accusing eyes ?
When he had signed that declaration at Car-
marthen, the attorney had shown by his face
that he believed the declaration to be false.
And now this man was there, and there was
nothing for him but to endure his ques-
tions.

" Mr. Jones,'' said the lawyer, '' I have
thought it my duty to call upon you in re-
spect to these articles in the Carmarthen
Herald.''

26 COUSIN HENRY.

'' I cannot help what the Carmarthen Herald
may say/'

''^But you. can^ Mr. Jones. That is just it.
There are laws which enable a man to stop
libels and to punish them if it be worth his
while to do so.'' He paused a moment, but
Cousin Henry was silent, and he continued,
'^ For many years I was your uncle's lawyer,
as was my father before me. I have
never been commissioned by you to regard
myself as your lawyer, but as circumstances
are at present, I am obliged to occupy the
place until you put your business into other
hands. In such a position I feel it to be my
duty to call upon you in reference to these
articles. No doubt they are libellous."

'^ They are very cruel j I know that," said
Cousin Henry, whining.

" All such accusations are cruel, if they be
false."

" These are false ; damnably false."

" I take that for granted ; and therefore I

AN ACTION FOR LIBEL. 27

have come to you to tell you that it is your
duty to repudiate with all the strength of
your own words the terrible charges which
are brought against you/^

"Must I go and be a witness about my-
self ?^^

'^ Yes j it is exactly that. You must go and
be a witness about yourself. Who else can
tell the truth as to all the matters in question
as well as yourself? You should understand,
Mr. Jones, that you should not take this
step with the view of punishing the news-
paper.^^

" Why, then ? ''

" In order that you may show yourself will-
ing to place yourself there to be questioned.
' Here I am,^ you would say. ' If there be any
point in which you wish me to be examined
as to this property and this will, here I am to
answer you.' It is that you may show that
you are not afraid of investigation. '^ But it
was exactly this of which Cousin Henry was

28, COUSIN HENEY.

afraid. " You cannot but be aware of wliat
is going on in Carmartben."

" I know about the newspaper/'

'^It is my duty not to blink tbe matter.
Every one, not only in the town but through-
out the country, is expressing an opinion that
right has not been done/'

'^ What do they want ? I ^annot help it if
my uncle did not make a will according to
their liking.''

^' They think that he did make a will ac-
cording to their liking, and that there has
been foul play."

'* Do they accuse me ? "

" Practically they do. These articles in the
paper are only an echo of the public voice.
And that voice is becoming stronger and
stronger every day because you take no steps
to silence it. Have you seen yesterday's
paper ? "

'' Yes ; I saw it," said Cousin Henry, gasp-
ing for breath.

AN ACTION FOR LIBEL. 29

Then Mr. Apjolin brought a copy of the
newspaper out of his pocket, and began to
read a list of questions which the editor was
supposed to ask the public generally. Each
question was an insult, and Cousin Henry,
had he dared, would have bade the reader
desist, and have turned him out of the room
for his insolence in reading them.

" Has Mr. Henry Jones expressed an
opinion of his own as to what became of
the will which the Messrs. Cantor wit-
nessed ? "

^' Has Mr. Henry Jones consulted any
friend, legal or otherwise, as to his tenure of
the Llanfeare estate ? ^'

" Has Mr. Henry Jones any friend to whom
he can speak in Carmarthenshire ?''

" Has Mr. Henry Jones inquired into the
cause di his own isolation ? ^'

'^ Has Mr. Henry Jones any idea why we
persecute him in every fresh issue of our news-
paper ? ''

30 COUSIN HENRY.

" Has Mr. Henry Jones thouglit of what may
possibly be the end of all this ? "

"Has Mr. Henry Jones any thought of
prosecuting us for libel ? '^

^^ Has Mr. Henry Jones heard of any other
case in which an heir has been made so little
welcome to his property ? "

So the questions went on, an almost endless
list, and the lawyer read them one after
another, in a low, plain voice, slowly, but
with clear accentuation, so that every point
intended by the questioner might be under-
stood. .Such a martyrdom surely no man was
ever doomed to bear before. In every line he
was described as a thief. Yet he bore it ; and
when the lawyer came to an end of the abomi-
nable questions, he sat silent, trying to smile.
What was he to say ?

" Do you mean to put up with that ? '' asked
Mr. Apjohn, with that curve of his eyebrow of
which Cousin Henry was so much afraid.

'' What am I to do ? ''

AN ACTION FOR LIBEL. 31

" Do ! ■ Do anything rather than sit in
silence and bear such injurious insult as that.
Were there nothing else to do, I would tear
the man^s tongue from his mouth, — or at least
his pen from his grasp.''

" How am I to find him ? I never did do
anything of that rough kind/'

'^ It is not necessary. I only say what a
man would do if there were nothing else to
be done. But the step to be taken is easy.
Instruct me to go before the magistrates at
Carmarthen, ^nd indict the paper for libel.
That is what you must do."

There was an imperiousness in the lawyer's
tone which was almost irresistible. Neverthe-
less Cousin Henry made a faint effort at re-
sisting. '^1 should be dragged into a law-
suit."

" A. lawsuit ! Of course you would. What
lawsuit would not be preferable to that ? You
must do as I bid you, or you must consent to
have it said and have it thought by all the

32 COUSIN HENRY.

country tliat you liave been guilty of some
felony^ and have filclied your cousin's pro-
perty/'

" I have committed nothing/' said the
poor wretch, as the tears ran down his
face.

" Then go and say so before the world/* said
the attorney, dashing his fist down violently
upon the table. " Gro and say so, and let men
hear you, instead of sitting here whining like
a woman. Like a woman ! What honest
woman would ever bear such insult ? If you
do not, you will convince all the world, you
will convince me and every neighbour you
have, that you have done something to make
away with that will. In that case we will not
leave a stone unturned to discover the truth.
The editor of that paper is laying himself
open purposely to an action in order that he
may force you to undergo the cross-question-
ing of a barrister, and everybody who hears of
it says that he is right. You can prove that

1

AN ACTION FOU LIBEL. 33

he is wrong only by accepting tlie challenge.
If you refuse the challenge, as I put it to you
now, you will acknowledge that — that you have
done this deed of darkness ! '^

Was there any torment ever so cruel, ever
so unjustifiable as this ! He was asked to put
himself, by his own act, into the thumbscrew,
on the rack, in order that the executioner
might twist his limbs and tear out his vitals !
He was to walk into a court of his own accord
that he might be worried like a rat by a ter-
rier, that he might be torn by the practised
skill of a professional tormentor, that he might
be forced to give up the very secrets of his
soul in his impotence ; — or else to live amidst
the obloquy of all men. He asked himself
whether he had deserved it, and in that
moment of time he assured himself that he
had not deserved such punishment as this. If
not altogether innocent, if not white as snow,
he had done nothing worthy of such cruel
usage.

VOL. II. D

34 COUSIN HENEY.

" Well/^ said Mr. Apjohn, as thougli de-
manding a final answer to his proposition.

'^I will think of it/' gasped Cousin
Henry.

'^ There must be no more thinking. The
time has gone by for thinking. If you will
give me your instructions to commence pro-
ceedings against the Carmarthen Herald, I
will act as your lawyer. If not, I shall make
it known to the town that I have made this
proposition to you; and I shall also make
known the way in which it has been accepted.
There has been more than delay enough.'^

He sobbed, and gasped, and struggled with
himself as the lawyer sat and looked at him.
The one thing on which he had been intent
was the avoiding of a court of law. And to
this he was now to bring himself by his own
act.

'^When would it have to be?'' he
asked.

" I should go before the magistrates to-

AN ACTION FOR LIBEL. 35

morrow. Your presence would not be wanted
then. No delay would be made by the other
side. They would be ready enough to come
to trial. The assizes begin here at Carmar-
then on the 29th of next month. You
might probably be examined on that day,
which will be a Friday, or on the Saturday
following. You will be called as a witness on
your own side to prove the libel. But the
questions asked by your own counsel would
amount to nothing.'^

" Nothing ! ^^ exclaimed Cousin Henry.

'^ You would be there for another purpose/^
continued the lawyer. " When that nothing
had been asked, you would be handed over to
the other side, in order that the object of the
proceedings might be attained.'^

'^ What object ?''

^^ How the barrister employed might put it
I cannot say, but he would examine you as to
any knowledge you may have as to that
missing will.^^

D 2

36 COUSIN HENRY.

Mr. Apjohn, as lie said this, paused for a
full minute, looking liis client full in tlie face.
It was as thougli he himself were carrying
on a cross-examination. ^' He would ask
you whether you have such knowledge.''
Then again he paused, but Cousin Henry
said nothing. '^ If you have no such knowledge,
if you have no sin in that matter on your con-
science, nothing to make you grow pale before
the eyes of a judge, nothing to make you fear
the verdict of a jury, no fault heavy on your
own soul, — then you may answer him with
frank courage, then you may look him in the
face, and tell him with a clear voice that as far
as you are aware your property is your own by
as fair a title as any in the country.''

In every word of this there had been con-
demnation. It was as though Mr. Apjohn
were devoting him to infernal torture, telling
him that his only escape would be by the exer-
cise of some herculean power which was noto-
riously beyond his reach. It was evident to

AN ACTION FOR LIBEL. 37

him that Mr. Apjohn was alluring him on with
the object of ensuring, not his escape, but
most calamitous defeat. Mr. Apjohn had come
there under the guise of his adviser and friend,
but was in fact leagued with all the others
around him to drive him to his ruin. Of that
he felt quite sure. The voice, the eyes, the
face, every gesture of his unwelcome visitor
had told him that it was so. And yet he could
not rise in indignation and expel the visitor
from his house. There was a cruelty, an in-
humanity, in this which to his thinking was
infinitely worse than any guilt of his own.
'' Well ? '' said Mr. Apjohn.
'^ I suppose it must be so.^'
'^ I have your instructions, then ? "
'' Don't you hear me say that I suppose it
must be so.''

" Very well. The matter shall be brought
in proper course before, the magistrates to-
morrow, and if, as I do not doubt, an injunc-
tion be granted, I will proceed with the matter

38 COUSIN HENRY.

at once. I will tell you whom we select as our
counsel at the assizes, and, as soon as I have
learnt, will let you know whom they employ.
Let me only implore you not only to tell the
truth as to what you know, but to tell all the
truth. If you attempt to conceal anything, it
will certainly be dragged out of you.^'

Having thus comforted his client, Mr.
Apjohn took his leave.

39

CHAPTER III.

COUSIN HENRY MAKES ANOTHER ATTEMFr.

When Mr. Apjohn had gone, Cousin Henry
sat for an hour, not thinking, — men so afflicted
have generally lost the power to think, — but
paralyzed by the weight of his sorrow, simply
repeating to himself assertions that said no
man had ever been used so cruelly. Had he
been as other men are, he would have turned
that lawyer out of the house at the first ex-
pression of an injurious suspicion, but his
strength had not sufficed for such action. He
confessed to himself his own weakness, though
he could not bring himself to confess his own
guilt. Why did they not find it and have
done with it ? Feeling at last how incapable

40 COUSIN HENRY.

he was of collecting his thouglits while he sat
there in the book-room^ and aware^ at the same
time, that he must determine on some course
of action, he took his hat and strolled out
towards the cliffs.

There was a month remaining to him, just a
month before the day named on which he was
to put himself into the witness-box. That, at
any rate, must be avoided. He did after some
fashion resolve that, let the result be what it
might, he would not submit himself to a cross-
examination. They could not drag him from
his bed were he to say that he was ill. They
could not send policemen to find him, were he
to hide himself in London. Unless he gave
evidence against himself as to his own guilty
knowledge, they could bring no open charge
against him ; or if he could but summon cou-
rage to throw himself from off the rocks, then,
at any rate, he would escape from their
hands.

What was it all about ? This he asked him-

COUSIN HENRY MAKES ANOTHEE ATTEMPT. 41

self as he sat some way down tlie cliff, looking
out over the sea. What was it all about ? If
they wanted the property for his Cousin Isabel,
they were welcome to take it. He desired
nothing but to be allowed to get away from
this accursed country, to escape, and never
more to be heard of there or to hear of it.
Could he not give up the property with the
signing of some sufficient deed, and thus put
an end to their cruel clamour ? He could do
it all without any signing, by a simple act of
honesty, by taking down the book with the
will and giving it at once to the lawyer ! It
was possible,— possible as far as the know-
ledge of any one but himself was concerned, —
that such a thing might be done not only with
honesty, but with high-minded magnanimity.
How would it be if in truth the document were
first found by him on this very day ? Had it
been so, were it so, then his conduct would be
honest. And it was still open to him to simu-
late that it was so. He had taken down the

42 COUSIN HENEY.

book, let him say, for spiritual comfort in his
great trouble, and lo, the will had been
found there between the leaves ! No one
would believe him. He declared to himself
that such was already his character in the
county that no one would believe him. But
what though they disbelieved him ? Surely
they would accept restitution without further
reproach. Then there would be no witness-box,
no savage terrier of a barrister to tear him in
pieces with his fierce words and fiercer eyes.
Whether they believed him or not, they would
let him go. It would be told of him, at any
rate, that having the will in his hands, he had
not destroyed it. Up in London, where men
would not know all the details of this
last miserable month, some good would be
spoken of him. And then there would be
time left to him to relieve his conscience by
repentance.

But to whom should he deliver up the will,
and how should he frame the words ? He was

COUSIN HENRY MAKES ANOTHER ATTEMPT. 43

conscious of his own impotence in deceit. For
sucli a purpose Mr. Apjohn, no doubt^ would
be the proper person, but there was no one
of whom he stood so much in dread as of Mr.
Apjohn. Were he to carry the book " and the
paper to the lawyer and attempt to tell his
story, the real truth would be drawn out from
him in the first minute of their interview.
The man^s eyes looking at him, the man^s
brow bent against him, would extract from
him Instantly the one truth which it was his
purpose to hold within his own keeping. He
would find no thankfulness, no mercy, not
even justice in the lawyer. The lawyer would
accept restitution, and would crush him after-
wards. Would it not be better to go off to
Hereford, without saying a word to any one in
Carmarthenshire, and give up the deed to his
Cousin Isabel? But then she had scorned
him. She had treated him with foul contempt.
As he feared Mr. Apjohn, so did he hate his
Cousin Isabel. The only approach to manli-

44 COUSIN HENKY.

less left in his bosom was a true hatred of his
cousin.

The single voice which had been kind to
him since he had come to this horrid place
had been that of old Farmer Griffith. Even
his voice had been stern at lastj but yet, with
the sternness, there had been something of
compassion. He thought that he could tell the
tale to Mr. Griffith, if to any one. And so
thinking, he resolved at once to go to Coed.
There was still before him that other means of
escape which the rocks and the sea afforded
him. As he had made his way on this morn-
ing to the spot on which he was now lying
that idea was still present to him. He did not
think that he could do a deed of such daring.
He was almost sure of himself that the power
of doing it would be utterly wanting when the
moment came. But still it was present to his
mind. The courage might reach him at the
instant. Were a sudden impulse to carry him
away, he thought the Lord would surely for-

COUSIN HENRY MAKES ANOTHER ATTEMPT. 45

give him because of all his sufferings. But
now, as he looked at the spot^ and saw that he
could throw himself only among the rocks,
that he could not reach the placid deep water,
he considered it again, and remembered that
the Lord would not forgive him a sin as to
which there would be no moment for repentance.
As he could not escape in that way, he must
carry out his purpose with Farmer Griffith.

^^ So you be here again prowling about on
father^s lands ? "

Cousin Henry knew at once the voice of
that bitter enemy of his, young Cantor ; and,
wretched as he was, he felt also something of
the spirit of the landlord in being thus rebuked
for trespassing on his own ground. '' I sup-
pose I have a right to walk about on my own
estate ? '^ said he.

" I know nothing about your own estate,^'
replied the farmer^s son. ^^ I say nothin' about
that. They do be talking about it, but I say
nothin\ I has my own opinions, but I

46 COUSIN HENRY.

say notliin\ Others do be saying a great deal,
as I suppose you hear, Mr. Jones, but I say
nothin'.''

" How dare you be so impudent to your
landlord ? ''

^^ I know nothin' about landlords. I know
father has a lease of this land, and pays his
rent, whether you get it or another ; and you
have no more right, it's my belief, to intrude
here nor any other stranger. So, if you please,
you'll walk/'

" I shall stay here just as long as it suits
me," said Cousin Henry.

" Oh, very well. Then father will have his
action against you for trespass, and so you'll
be brought into a court of law. You are
bound to go off when you are warned. You
ain't no right here because you call yourself
landlord. You come up here and I'll thrash
you, that's what I will. You wouldn't dare
show yourself before a magistrate, that's what
you wouldn't."

COUSIN HENEY MAKES ANOTHEE ATTEMPT. 47

The young man stood there for a while wait-
ings and then walked off with a loud laugh.

Any one might insult him, any one might
beat him, and he could seek for no redress
because he would not dare to submit himself
to the ordeal of a witness-box. All those
around him knew that it was so. He was
beyond the protection of the law because of
the misery of his position. It was clear that
he must do something, and as he could not
drown himself, there was nothing better than
that telling of his tale to Mr. Griffith. He
would go to Mr. Griffith at once. He had not
the book and the document with him, but per-
haps he could tell the tale better without their
immediate presence.

At Coed he found the farmer in his own
farmyard.

" I have come to you in great touble,''^ said
Cousin Henry, beginning his story.

''Well, squire, what is it?'' Then the
farmer seated himself on a low, movable bar

48 fiOUSIN HENRY.

wliicli protected tlie entrance into an open barn,
and Cousin Henrj sat beside bim.

^^That young man Cantor insulted me
grossly just now/'

'^ He shouldn't have done that. Whatever
comes of it all, he shouldn't have done that.
He was always a forward young puppy."

'^ I do think I have been treated very badly
among you."

^^As to that, Mr. Jones, opinion does run
very high about the squire's will. I explained
to you all that when I was with you yester-
day."

"Something has occurred since that, —
something that I was coming on purpose to
tell you."

'' What has occurred ? " Cousin Henry
groaned terribly as the moment for revelation
came upon him. And he felt that he had
made the moment altogether unfit for revela-
tion by that ill-judged observation as to
young Cantor, He should have rushed at his

COUSIN HENRY MAKES ANOTHER ATTEMPT. 49

story at once. '' Oh, Mr. Griffith, I have
found the will \'' It should have been told
after that fashion. He felt it now, — felt that
he had allowed the opportunity to slip by him.

" What is it that has occurred, Mr. Jones,
since I was up at Llanfeare yesterday ? "

'• I don^t think that I could tell you here.''^

'' Where, then ? ''

" Nor yet to-day. That young man.
Cantor, has so put me out that I hardly know
what I am saying.**^

" Couldn't you speak it out, sir, if it's just
something to be said ? ''

^^It's something to be shown too,'' replied
Cousin Henry, ''^and if you wouldn't mind
coming up to the house to-morrow, or next
day, then I could explain it all."

" To-morrow it shall be," said the farmer.
^^ On the day after I shall be in Carmarthen to
market. If eleven o'clock to-morrow morning
won't be too early, I shall be there, sir.'^

One, or three, or five o'clock would have

VOL. II. s

50 COUSIN HENEY.

been better, or the day following better still,
so that the evil hour might have been post-
poned. But Cousin Henry assented to the
proposition and took his departure. Now he
had committed himself to some revelation, and
the revelation must be made. He felt acutely
the folly of his own conduct during the last
quarter of an hour. If it might have been
possible to make the old man believe that the
document had only been that morning found,
such belief could only have been achieved by an
impulsive telling of the story. He was aware
that at every step he took he created fresh diffi-
culties by his own folly and want of foresight.
How could he now act the sudden emotion of
a man startled by surprise ? Nevertheless, he
must go on with his scheme. There was now
nothing before him but his scheme. The
farmer would not believe him; but still he
might be able to achieve that purpose which
he had in view of escaping from Llanfeare and
Carmarthenshire.

COUSIN HENRY MAKES ANOTHER ATTEMPT. 61

He sat up late that night thinking of it.
For many days past he had not touched
the volume, or allowed his eye to rest upon
the document. He had declared to himself
that it might remain there or be taken away,
as it might chance to others. It should no
longer be anything to him. For aught that
he knew, it might already have been removed.
Such had been his resolution during the last
fortnight, and in accordance with that he had
acted. But now his purpose was again
changed. Now he intended to reveal the will
with his own hands, and it might be well that
he should see that it was there.

He took down the book, and there it was.
He opened it out, and carefully read through
every word of its complicated details. For it
had been arranged and drawn out in a lawyer^s
office, with all the legal want of punctuation
and unintelligible phraseology. It had been
copied verbatim by the old Squire, and was
no doubt a properly binding and effective will.
£ 2

52 COUSIN HENRY.

Never before had he dwelt over ifc so tediously.
He had feared lesi a finger-mark, a blot, or a
spark might betray his acquaintance with the
deed. But now he was about to give it up
and let all the world know that it had been
in his hands. He felt, therefore, that he was
entitled to read it, and that there was no
longer ground to fear any accident. Though
the women in the house should see him read-
ing it, what matter ?

Thrice he read it, sitting there late into
the night. Thrice he read the deed which had
been prepared with such devilish industry to
rob him of the estate which had been promised
him ! If he had been wicked to conceal it, —
no, not to conceal it, but only to be silent as to
its whereabouts, — how much greater had been
the sin of that dying old man who had taken so
much trouble in robbing him ? Now that the
time had come, almost the hour in which he
was about to surrender the property which he
had lately so truly loathed, there came again

COUSIN HENRY MAKES ANOTHER ATSEMPT. 53

upon him a love of money,, a feeling of the
privilege which attached to him as an owner
of broad acres, and a sudden remembrance
that with a little courage, with a little perse-
verance, with a little power of endurance, he
might live down the evils of the present day.
When he thought of what it might be to be
Squire of Llanfeare in perhaps five years time,
with the rents in his pocket, he became angry
at his own feebleness. Let them ask him
what questions they would, there could be no
evidence against him. If he were to burn the
will, there could certainly bono evidence against
him. If the will were still hidden, they might,
perhaps, extract that secret from him; but
no lawyer would be strong enough to make
him own that he had thrust the paper between
the bars of the fire.

He sat looking at it, gnashing his teeth
together, and clenching his fists. If only he
dared to do it ! If only he could do it ! He did
during a moment, make up his mind ; but had

54 COUSIN HENRY.

no sooner done so tlian there rose clearly
before his mind's eye the judge and the jury,
the paraphernalia of the court, and all the long
horrors of a prison life. Even now those
prying women might have their eyes turned
upon what he was doing. And should there
be no women prying, no trial, no conviction,
still there would be the damning guilt on his
own soul, — a guilt which w^ould admit of no
repentance except by giving himself up to the
hands of the law ! No sooner had he resolved
to destroy the will than he was unable to
destroy it. No sooner had he felt his inability
than again he longed to do the deed. When
at three o^clock he dragged himself up
wearily to his bed, the will was again within
the sermon, ar.d the book was at rest upon its
old ground.

Punctually &t eleven Mr. Griffith was with
him, and it was evident from his manner that
he had thought the matter over, and was
determined to be kind and gracious^

COUSIN HENRY MAKES ANOTHER ATTEMPT. 55

" Now, squire/* said lie^ '' let us hear it ;
and I do hope it raay be something that may
make your mind quiet at last. YouVe had, I
fear, a bad time of it since the old squire
died/^

" Indeed I have, Mr. Griffith.^'

" What is it now ? Whatever it be, you
may be sure of this, I will take it charitable
like. I won't take nothing amiss ; and if so be
I can help you, I will.''

Cousin Henry, as the door had been opened,
and as the man's footstep had been heard, had
made up his mind that on this occasion he
could not reveal the secret. He had disabled
himself by that unfortunate manner of his
yesterday. He would not even turn his eyes
upon the book, but sat looking into the empty
grate. '' What is it, Mr. Jones ? " asked the
farmer.

^' My uncle did make a will," said Cousin
Henry feebly.

" Of course he made a will. He made a

56 COUSIN HENRY.

many, — one or two more than was wise, I am
thinkiog/^

" He made a will after the last one/"*

"After that in your favour ? "

'^ Yes j after that. I know that he did, by
what I saw him doing ; and so I thought Fd
tell you.''

" Is that all.''

" I thought I'd let you know that I was
sure of it. What became of it after it was
made, that, you know, is quite another ques-
tion. I do think it must be in the house, and
if so, search ought to be made. If they be-
lieve there is such a will, why don't they come
and search more regularly ? I shouldn't
hinder them."

" Is that all you've got to say ? "

^^ As I h^ve been thinking about it so much
and as you are so kind to me, I thought I had
better tell you."

"But there was something you were to
show me."

COUSIN HENRY MAKES ANOTHER ATTEMPT. 57

'' Oh_, yes ; I did say so. If you will come
upstairs, 1^11 point out the very spot where the
old man sat when he was writing it/'
^' There is nothing more than that ? '^
" Nothing more than that, Mr. Griffith/'
"Then good morning, Mr. Jones. I am
afraid we have not got to the end of the
matter yet.''

o8

CHAPTER lY.

AGAIN AT HEREFORD.

Some of the people at Carmartlien were taking
a great deal of trouble about tbe matter. One
copy of tbe Herald was sent regularly to Mr.
Brodrick, another to Isabel, and another to
Mr. Owen. It was determined that they should
not be kept in ignorance of what was being
done. In the first number issued after Mr. Ap-
john's last visit to Llanfeare there was a short
leading article recapitulating all that was
hitherto know of the story. " Mr. Henry
Jones/^ said the article in its last paragraph,
'* has at length been induced to threaten an
action for libel against this newspaper. We
doubt much whether he will have the courage

AGAIN AT HEREFOED. 69

to go on with it. But if lie does, lie will
have to put himself into a witness-box, and
then probably we may learn something of the
truth as to the last will and testament made
by Mr. Indefer Jones. ^^ All this reached
Hereford, and was of course deeply considered
there by persons whom it concerned.

Mr. Owen, for some days after the scene
which has been described between him and
Isabel, saw her frequently, and generally found
means to be alone with her for some moments.
She made no effort to avoid him, and would
fain have been allowed to treat him simply as
her dearest friend. But in all these moments
he treated her as though she were engaged to
be his wife. There was no embracing, no kiss.
Isabel would not permit it. But in all terms
of affectionate expression he spoke of her and
to her as though she were his own ; and would
only gently laugh at her when she assured him
that it could never be so.

'^Of course you can torment me a little,-"

60 • COUSIN HENRY.

he said, smiling, ^^but the forces arrayed
against you are too strong, and you have
not a chance on your side. It would be
monstrous to suppose that you should go on
making me miserable for ever, — and yourself
too.''

In answer to this she could only say that she
cared but little for her own misery, and did
not believe in his. ^^The question is," she
said, ^^ whether it be fitting. As I feel
that it is not fitting, I certainly shall not do it.''
In answer to this he would again smile, and
tell her that a month or two at furthest would
see her absolutely conquered.

Then the newspapers reached them. When
it became clear to him that there existed in
Carmarthenshire so strong a doubt as to the
validity of the will under which the property
was at present held, then Mr. Owen's visits to
the house became rarer and diiferent in their
nature. Then he was willing to be simply the
friend of the family, and as such he sought no

AGAIN AT HEEEFORD. 61

especial interviews with Isabel. Between him
and Isabel no word was spoken as to the con-
tents of the newspaper. But between Mr.
Brodrick and the clergyman many words were
spoken. Mr. Brodrick declared at once to
his intended son-in-law his belief in the accu-
sations which were implied, — which were im-
plied at first, but afterwards made in terms so
frightfully clear. When such words as those
were said and printed there could, he urged,
be no doubt as to what was believed in Car-
marthen. And why should it be believed
without ground that any man had done so
hideous a deed as to destroy a will? The
lawyer's hair stood almost on end as he spoke
of the atrocity ; but yet he believed it. Would
a respectable newspaper such as the Carmar-
then Herald commit itself to such a course
without the strongest assurance ? What was it
to the Carmarthen Herald ? Did not the very
continuance of the articles make it clear that
the readers of the paper were in accordance

62 COUSIN HENRY.

with the writer? Would the public of Car-
marthen sympathize in such an attack without
the strongest ground ? He, the attorney, fully
believed in Cousin Henry's guilt ; but he was
not on that account sanguine as to the proof.
If, during his sojourn at Llanfeare, either
immediately before the old squire's death or
after it, but before the funeral, he had been
enabled to lay his hand upon the will and
destroy it, what hope would there be of evi-
dence of such guilt ? As to that idea of forcing
the man to tell such a tale against himself
by the torment of cross-examination, he did
not believe it at all. A man who had been
strong enough to destroy a will would be too
strong for that. Perhaps he thought that any
man would be too strong, not having known
Cousin Henry. Among all the possible chances
which occurred to his mind, — and his mind at
this time was greatly filled with such con-
siderations, — nothing like the truth suggested
itself to him. His heart was tormented by

AGAIN AT HEREFORD. 63

the idea that the property had been stolen
from his child, that the glory of being father-
in-law to Llanfeare had been filched from him-
self, and that no hope for redress remained.
He sympathized altogether with the news-
paper. He felt grateful to the newspaper.
He declared the editor to be a man specially
noble and brave in his calling. But he did
not believe that the newspaper would do any
good either to him or to Isabel.

Mr. Owen doubted altogether the righteous-
ness of the proceeding as regarded the news-
paper. As far as he could see there was no
evidence against Cousin Henry. There seemed
to him to be an injustice in accusing a man of
a great crime, simply because the crime might
have been possible, and would, if committed,
have been beneficial to the criminal. That
plan of frightening the man into self-accusa-
tion by the terrors of cross-examination was
distasteful to him. He would not sympathize
with the newspaper. But still he found him-

64 COUSIN HENRY.

self compelled to retreat from that aflfectation
of certainty in regard to Isabel wMcli lie had
assumed when he knew only that the will had
been proved, and that Cousin Henry was in
possession of the property. He had regarded
Isabel and the property as altogether separated
from each other. Now he learned that such
was not the general opinion in Carmarthen-
shire. It was not his desire to push forward
his suit with the heiress of Llanfeare. He
had been rejected on what he had acknow-
ledged to be fitting grounds while that had
been her position. When the matter had been
altogether settled in Cousin Henry's favour,
then he could come forward again.

Isabel was quite sure that the newspaper
was right. Did she not remember the dying
words with which her uncle had told her that he
had again made her his heir ? And had she not
always clearly in her mind the hang-dog look
of that wretched man? She was strong-minded,
— but yet a woman, with a woman's propensity

AGAIN AT HEREFORD. 65

to follow her feelings rather than either facts or
reason. Her lover had told her that her uncle
had been very feeble when those words had
been spoken, with his mind probably vague
and his thoughts wandering. It had, perhaps,
been but a dream. Such words did not
suffice as evidence on which to believe a man
guilty of so great a crime. She knew, — so she
declared to herself, — that the old man's words
had not been vague. And as to those hang-
dog looks, — her lover had told her that she
should not allow a man's countenance to go so
far in evidence as that ! In so judging she
would trust much too far to her own power
of discernment. She would not contradict
him, but she felt sure of her discernment in
that respect. She did not in the least doubt
the truth of the evidence conveyed by the
man's hang-dog face.

She had sworn to herself a thousand times
that she would not covet the house and
property. When her uncle had first declared

VOL. II. F

66 COUSIN HENRY.

to her his purpose of disinheriting her, she
had been quite sure of herself that her love
for him should not be aflPected by the change.
It had been her pride to think that she could
soar above any consideration of money and be
sure of her own nobility, even though she
should be stricken with absolute poverty. But
now she was tempted to long that the news-
paper might be found to be right. Was there
any man so fitted to be exalted in the world,
so sure to fill a high place with honour, as her
lover ? Though she might not want Llanfeare
for herself, was she not bound to want it for
his sake ? He had told her how certain he was
of her heart, — ^how sure he was that sooner or
later he would win her hand. She had almost
begun to think that it must be so, — that her
strength would not suffice for her to hold to
her purpose. But how sweet would be her
triumph if she could tm'n to him and tell him
that now the hour had come in which she
would be proud to become his wife ! '^ I love

AGAIN AT HEREFORD. 67

you well endugli to rejoice in giving you some-
thing, but too well to liave been a burden on
you when I could give you nothing/' That
would be sweet to her ! Then there should be
kisses ! As for Cousin Henry, there was not
even pity in her heart towards him. It would
be time to pity him when he should have been
made to give up the fruits of his wickedness
and to confess his faults.

Mrs. Brodrick was not made to understand
the newspapers, nor did she care much about
the work which they had taken in hand. If
Isabel could be made to accept that smaller
legacy, so that Mr. Owen might marry her out
of hand and take her away, that would be
enough to satisfy Mrs. Brodrick. If Isabel
were settled somewhere with Mr. Owen, their
joint means being suiEficient to make it certain
that no calls would be made on" the paternal
resources, that would satisfy Mrs. Brodrick's
craving in regard to the Welsh property.
She was not sure that she was anxious to see
F 2

68 cousm HENRr.

the half-sister of her own children altogether
removed from their sphere and exalted so high.
And then this smaller stroke of good fortune
might be so much more easily made certain !
A single word from Isabel herself, a word
which any girl less endowed with wicked
obstinacy would have spoken at once, would
make that sure and immediate. Whereas this
great inheritance which was to depend upon
some almost impossible confession of the man
who enjoyed it, seemed to her to be as distant
as ever.

*'^ Bother the newspapers,*^ she said to her
eldest daughter ; ^' why doesn't she write and
sign the receipt, and take her income like
any one else ? She was getting new boots at
Jackson's yesterday, and where is the money
to come from? If any of you want new
boots, papa is sure to tell me of it ! 'V

Her spirit was embittered too by the seve-
rity of certain words which her husband had
spoken to her. Isabel had appealed to her

AGAIN AT HEREFORD. 69

father when her step-mother had reproached
her with being a burden in the house.

" Papa," she had said, '' let me leave the
house and earn something. I can at any rate
earn my bread /^

Then Mr. Brodrick had been very angry.
He too had wished to accelerate the mar-
riage between his daughter and her lover,
thinking that she would surely accept the
money on her lover's behalf. He too had
been annoyed at the persistency of her double
refusal. But it had been very far from his
purpose to drive his girl from his house, or to
subject her to the misery of such reproaches
as his wife had cast upon her.

" My dear/' he had said, " there is no ne-
cessity for anything of the kind. I and your
mother are only anxious for your welfare. I
think that you should take your uncle's money,
if not for your own sake, then for the sake of
him to whom we all hope that you will soon
be married. But putting that aside, you are

70 COUSIN HENRY.

as well entitled to remain here as your sisters,
and, until you are married, here will be your
home/'

There was comfort in this, some small com-
fort, but it did not tend to create pleasant in-
tercourse between Isabel and her step-mother.
Mrs. Brodrick was a woman who submitted
herself habitually to her husband, and intended
to obey him, but one who nevertheless would
not be deterred from her own little purposes.
She felt herself to be ill-used by Isabel's pre-
sence in the house. Many years ago Isabel
had been taken away, and she had been given
to understand that Isabel was removed for
ever. There was to be no more expense, no
more trouble, — there should be no more
jealousies in regard to Isabel. The old uncle
had promised to do everything, and that sore
had been removed from her life. Now Isabel
had come back again, and insisted on remain-
ing there, — so unnecessarily ! Now" again there
were those boots to be bought at Jackson's,

AGAIN AT HEREFORD. 71

and all those other increased expenditures
which another back, another head, another
mouth, and another pair of feet must create.
And then it was so palpable that Hereford
thought much of Isabel, but thought little or
nothing of her own girls. Such a one as Mrs.
Brodrick was sure to make herself unpleasant
in circumstances such as these,

" Isabel,'^ she said to her one day, " I didn't
say anything about you being turned out of
the house."

^^ Who has said that you did, mother ? ^'

" You shouldn't have gone to your father
and talked about going out as a housemaid/'

^^ I told papa that if he thought it right, I
would endeavour to earn my bread.''

'^ You told him that I had complained about
you being here."

*' So you did. I had to tell him so, or I
could not explain my purpose. Of course I
am a burden. Every human being who eats
and wears clothes and earns nothing is a bur-

72 COUSIN HENRY,

den. And I know that this is thought of the
more because it had been felt that I had been
T— been disposed oV

'' You could be disposed of now, as you call
it, if you pleased/'

'' But I do not please. That is a matter on
which I will listen to no dictation. Therefore
it is that I wish that I could go away and
earn my own bread. I choose to be indepen-
dent in that matter, and therefore I ought to
suffer for it. It is reasonable enough that I
should be felt to be a burden.*'

Then the other girls came in, and nothing
more was said till, after an hour or two, Mrs.
Brodrick and Isabel were again alone together.

" I do think it very odd that you cannot
take that money ; I certainly do,'' said Mrs.
Brodrick.

" What is the use of going on about it ? I
shall not be made to take it."

'^ And all those people at Carmarthen so
sure that you are entitled to ever so much

AGAIN AT HEREFORD. 73

more ! I say nothing about burdens, but I
cannot conceive bow you can reconcile it to
your conscience when your poor papa has got
so many things to pay, and is so little able to
pay them/'

Then she paused, but as Isabel would not be
enticed into any further declaration of inde-
pendence, she continued, "It certainly is a
setting up of your own judgment against
people who must know better. As for Mr.
Owen, of course it will drive him to look
for some one else. The young man wants
a wife, and of course he will find one. Then
that chance will be lost."

In this way Isabel did not pass her time
comfortably at Hereford.

74

CHAPTER V.

MR. CHEEKEY.

A MONTH had been left for Cousin Henry to
consider what he would do, — a month from the
day in which he had been forced to accede
to Mr. Apjohn's proposal up to that on which
he would have to stand before the barrister at
Carmarthen, should he be brave enough at
last to undergo the ordeal. He had in truth
resolved that he would not undergo the ordeal.
He was quite sure of himself that nothing short
of cart -ropes or of the police would drag him
into the witness-box. But still there was the
month. There were various thoughts filling his
mind. A great expense was being incurred,
— most uselessly, if he intended to retreat

ME. CHEEKEY. 75

before the day came^ — and who would pay the
money ? There was hardly a hope left in his
bosom that the property would remain in his
hands. His hopes indeed now ran in alto-
gether another direction. In what way might
he best get rid of the property ? How most
readily might he take himself off from Llan-
feare and have nothing more to do with the
tenants and their rents ? But still it was he
who would be responsible for this terrible
expense. It had been explained to him by
the lawyer^ that he might either indict the pro-
prietor of the newspaper on a criminal charge or
bring a civil action against him for damages.
Mr. Apjohn had very strongly recommended the
former proceeding. It would be cheaper^ he
had said, and would show that the man who
brought it had simply wished to vindicate his
own character. It would be cheaper in the
long-run, — because, as the lawyer explained,
it would not be so much his object to get a
verdict as to show by his presence in the court

76 COUSIN HENEY.

that he was afraid of no one. Were he to sue
for damages, and, as was probable, not to get
them, he must then bear the double expense
of the prosecution and defence. Such had
been the arguments Mr. Apjohn had used;
but he had considered also that if he could
bind the man to prosecute the newspaper
people on a criminal charge, then the poor
victim would be less able to retreat. In such
case as that, should the victim's couragfe fail
him at the last moment, a policeman could be
made to fetch him and force him into the wit-
ness-box. But in the conduct of a civil action
no such constraint could be put upon him.
Knowing all this, Mr. Apjohn had eagerly ex-
plained the superior attractions of a criminal
prosecution, and Cousin Henry had fallen into
the trap. He understood it all now, but had
not been ready enough to do so when the
choice had been within his power. He had
now bound himself to prosecute, and certainly
would be dragged into Carmarthen, unless he

MR. CHEEKEY. 77

first made known the truth as to the will. If
he did that, then he thought that thej would
surely spare him the trial. Were he to say
to them, ^' There ; I have at last myself found
the will. Here, behold it ! Take the will and
take Llanfeare, and let me escape from my
misery," then surely they would not force him
to appear in reference to a matter which would
have been already decided in their own favour.
He had lost that opportunity of giving up the
will through Mr. Griffith, but he was still
resolved that some other mode must be dis-
covered before the month should have run by.
Every day was of moment, and yet the days
passed on and nothing was done. His last
idea was to send the will to Mr. Apjohn with
a letter, in which he would simply declare that
he had just found it amongst the sermons, and
that he was prepared to go away. But as the
days flew by the letter was left unwritten, and
the will was still among the sermons.

It will be understood that all this was much

78 COUSIN HENRY.

talked of in Carmartlien. Mr. Henry Jones,
of Llanfeare, was known to have indicted Mr,
Gregory Evans, of the Carmartlien Herald,
for the publication of various wicked and
malicious libels against himself; and it was
known also that Mr. Apjohn was Mr. Jones's
attorney in carrying on the prosecution. But
not the less was it understood that Mr. Apjohn
and Mr. Evans were not hostile to each other
in the matter. Mr. Apjohn would be quite
honest in what he did. He would do his best
to prove the libel, — on condition that his client
were the honest owner of the property in
question. In truth, however, the great object
of them all was to get Henry Jones into a
witness-box, so that, if possible, the very truth
might be extracted from him.

Day by day and week by week since the
funeral the idea had grown and become strong
in Carmarthen that some wicked deed had
been done. It irked the hearts of them all
that such a one as Henry Jones should do

ME. CHEEKEY. 79

such a deed and not be discovered. Old
Indefer Jones had been respected by his
neighbours. Miss Brodrick, though not
personally well known in the county^ had
been spoken well of by all men. The idea
that Llanfeare should belong to her had been
received with favour. Then had come that
altered intention in the old squire''s mind,
and the neighbours had disapproved. Mr.
Apjohn had disapproved very strongly, and
though he was not without that reticence so
essentially necessary to the character of an
attorney, his opinion had become known.
Then the squire^s return to his old purpose
was whispered abroad. The Cantors had
spoken very freely. Everything done and
everything not done at Llanfeare was known
in Carmarthen. Mr. Griffith had at length
spoken, being the last to abandon all hope as
to Cousin Henry's honesty.

Every one was convinced that Cousin Henry
had simply stolen the property ; and was it to

80 COUSIN HENRY.

be endured that such a deed as that should
have been done by such a man and that Car-
marthen should not find it out ? Mr. Apjohn
was very much praised for his energy in hav-
ing forced the man to take his action against
Mr. Evans, and no one was more inclined to
praise him than Mr. Evans himself. "Those
who had seen the man did believe that the
truth would be worked out of him ; and those
who had only heard of him were sure that the
trial would be a time of intense interest in the
borough. The sale of the newspaper had
risen immensely, and Mr. Evans was quite
the leading man of the hour.

^''So you are going to have Mr. Balsam
against me ? '' said Mr. Evans to Mr. Apjohn
one day. Now Mr. Balsam was a very
respectable barrister, who for many years had
gone the Welsh circuit, and was chiefly known
for the mildness of his behaviour and an
accurate knowledge of law, — two gifts hardly
of much value to an advocate in an assize town.

MR. CHEEKEY. 81

^^ Yes^ Mr. Evans. Mr. Balsam, I have no
doubtj will do all that we want.^^

'^I suppose you want to get me into
prison ? ''

" Certainly, if it shall be proved that you
have deserved it. The libels are so manifest
that it will be only necessary to read them
to a jury. Unless you can justify them, I
think you will have to go to prison.^^

^' I suppose so. You will come and see me,
I am quite sure, Mr. Apjohn.^^

"I suppose Mr. Cheekey will have some-
thing to say on your behalf before it comes to
that.''

Now Mr. John Cheekey was a gentleman
about fifty years of age, who had lately risen
to considerable eminence in our criminal courts
of law. He was generally called in the pro-
fession, — and perhaps sometimes outside it, —
'' Supercilious Jack,'' from the manner he had
of moving his eyebrows when he was desirous
of intimidating a witness. He was a strong,

VOL. II. G

82 COUSIN HENRY.

young-lookingj and generally good-humoured
Irishman, who had a thousand good points.
Under no circumstances would he bully a
woman, — nor would he bully a man, unless,
according to his own mode of looking at such
cases, the man wanted bullying. But when
that time did come, — and a reference to the
Old Bailey and assize reports in general would
show that it came very often, — Supercilious
Jack would make his teeth felt worse than any
terrier. He could pause in his cross-examina-
tion, look at a man, projecting his face forward
by degrees as he did so, in a manner which
would crush any false witness who was not
armed with triple courage at his breast, — and,
^/ alas ! not unfrequently a witness who was not
false. For unfortunately, though Mr. Cheekey
intended to confine the process to those who,
as he said, wanted bullying, sometimes he made
mistakes. He was possessed also of another
precious gift, — which, if he had not invented, he
had brought to perfection, — that of bullying

MR. CHEBKEY. 83

the judge also. He had found that by doing
so he could lower a judge in the estimation
of the jury, and thus diminish the force of a
damnatory charge. Mr. Cheekey's services
had been especially secured for this trial, and
all the circumstances had been accurately ex-
plained to him. It was felt that a great day
would have arrived in Carmarthen when Mr.
Cheekey should stand up in the court to cross-
examine Cousin Henry.

'^Yes/' said Mr. Evans, chuckling, "I
think that Mr. Cheekey will have something
to say to it. What will be the result, Mr.
Apjohn ? '' he asked abruptly.

'^ How am I to say ? If he can only hold
his own like a man, there will, of course, be a
verdict of guilty.^ ^

'^ But can he ? " asked he of the news-
paper.

'* 1 hope he may with all my heart, — if he
have done nothing that he ought not to have
done. In this matter, Mr. Evans, I have alto-
G 2

84 COUSIN HENEY.

getter a divided sympatliy. I dislike tlie man
utterly. I donH care who knows it. No one
knows it better than he himself. The idea of
his coming here over that young lady's head was
from the first abhorrent to me. When I saw
him^ and heard him, and found out what he
was, — such a poor, cringing, cowardly wretch,
— my feeling was of course exacerbated. It was
terrible to me that the old squire, whom I had
always respected, should have brought such a
man among us. But that was the old squire's
doing. He certainly did bring him, and as cer-
tainly intended to make him his heir. If he
did make him his heir, if that will which I
read was in truth the last will, then I hope
most sincerely that all that Mr. Cheekey may
do may be of no avail against him. If that be
the case, I shall be glad to have an oppor-
tunity of calling upon you in your new lodg-
ings."

"But if there was another will, Mr. Apjohn,
— a later will ? ''

MR. CHEEKEY. 85

'^ Then, of course, there is the doubt whether
this man be aware of it.''

'' But if he be aware of it ? ''

^' Then I hope that Mr. Cheekey may tear
him limb from hmb.^'

'^ But you feel sure that it is so ? "

'*Ahj I do not know about that. It is
very hard to be sure of anything. When
see him I do feel almost sure that he is guilty;
but when I think of it afterwards, I again have
my doubts. It is not by men of such calibre
that great crimes are committed. I can
hardly fancy that he should have destroyed
a will.''

" Or hidden it ? "

'^ If it were hidden, he would live in agony
lest it were discovered. I used to think so
when I knew that he passed the whole day
sitting in one room. Now he goes out for
hours together. Two or three times he has
been down with old Griffith at Coed, and twice
young Cantor found him lying on the sea

86 COUSIN HENEY.

cliff. I doubt whetlier lie would liave gone
so far afield if tlie will were hidden in tlie
house/^

" Can lie have it on his own person ? "

"He is not brave enough for that. The
presence of it there would reveal itself by the
motion of his hands. His fingers would always
be on the pocket that contained it. I do not
know what to think. And it is because I am
in doubt that I have brought him under Mr.
Cheekey's thumbscrew. It is a case in which
I would, if possible, force a man to confess
the truth even against himself. And for this
reason I have urged him to prosecute you.
But as an honest man myself, I am bound to
hope that he may succeed if he be the rightful
owner of Llanfeare.^'

"No one believes it,. Mr. Apjohn. Not one
in all Carmarthen beheves it.^^

" I will not say what 1 believe myself. In-
deed I do not know. But I do hope that by

MR. CHEEKEY. 87

Mr. Cheekey's aid or otherwise we may get at
the truth."

In his own peculiar circle, with Mr. Geary
the attorney, with Mr. Jones the auctioneer,
and Mr. Powell, the landlord of. the Bush
Hotel, Mr. Evans was much more triumphant.
Among them, and, indeed, with the gentlemen
of Carmarthen generally, he was something of
a hero. They did believe it probable that the
interloper would be extruded from the property
which did not belong to him, and that the
doing of this would be due to Mr. Evans.
"Apjohn pretends to think that it is very
doubtful,'^ said he to his three friends.

"Apjohn isn^t doubtful at all," said Mr.
Geary, " but he is a little cautious as to
expressing himself."

'^ Apjohn has behaved very well," remarked
the innkeeper. " If it wasn't for him we
should never have got the rascal to come for-
ward at all. He went out in one of my flies,

88 COUSIN HENRY.

but I won^t let them charge for it on a job like
that.''

^^I suppose you'll charge for bringing
Cousin Henry into the court/' said the
auctioneer. They had all got to call him
Cousin Henry since the idea had got abroad
that he had robbed his Cousin Isabel.

" I'd bring him too for nothing, and stand
him his lunch into the bargain, rather than
that he shouldn't have the pleasure of meeting
Mr. Cheekey."

" Cheekey will get it out of him, if there is
anything to get," said Mr. Evans.

" My belief is that Mr. Cheekey will about
strike him dumb. If he has got anything in
his bosom to conceal, he will be so awe-struck
that he won't be able to open his mouth.
He won't be got to say he did it, but he won't
be able to say he didn't." This was Mr. Geary's
opiniou.

'^ What would that amount to ? " asked Mr.
Powell. ^^I'm afraid they couldn't give the

MR. CHEEKEY. 89

place back to the young lady because of
that/'

" The jury would acquit Mr. Evans. That's
about what it would amount to," said the
attorney.

^' And Cousin Henry would go back to Llan-
feare, and have all his troubles over/' remarked
Mr. Jones. This they deemed to be a dis-
astrous termination to all the trouble which
they were taking, but one which seemed by
no means improbable.

They all agreed that even Mr. Cheekey would
hardly be able to extract from the man an
acknowledgment that he had with his own
hands destroyed the will. Such a termination
as that to a cross-examination had never been
known under the hands of the most expert
of advocates. That Cousin Henry might be
stricken dumb, that he might faint, that he
might be committed for contempt of court, —
all these events were possible, or perhaps, not
impossible ; but that he should say, ^'^ Yes, I

90 COUSIN HENRY.

did it, I burnt the will. Yes, I, with my own
hands/' — that they all declared to be impossible.
And, if so, Cousin Henry would go back again
to Llanfeare confirmed in his possession of the
property.

" He will only laugh at us in his sleeve when
it is over," said the auctioneer.

They little knew the torments which the
man was enduring, or how unlikely it was that
he should laugh in his sleeve at any one. We
are too apt to forget when we think of the sins
and faults of men how keen may be their
conscience in spite of their sins. While they
were thus talking of Cousin Henry, he
was vainly endeavouring to console himself
with the reflection that he had not committed
any great crime, that there was still a road
open to him for repentance, that if only he
might be allowed to escape and repent in Lon-
don, he would be too glad to resign Llanfeare
and all its glories. The reader will hardly
suppose that Cousin Henry will return after

ME. CHEEKEY. 91

the trial to laugh in his sleeve in his own
library in his own house.

A few days afterwards Mr. Apjohn was up
in town and had an interview with Mr. Balsam,
the barrister. " This client of mine does not
seem to be a nice sort of country gentleman/'
said Mr. Balsam.

" Anything but that. You will understand^
Mr. Balsam, that my only object in persuading
him to indict the paper has been to put him
into a witness-box. I told him so, of course.
I explained to him that unless he would
appear there, he could never hold up his
head.^'

" And he took your advice.^'

" Yery unwillingly. He would have given
his right hand to escape. But I gave him no
alternative. I so put it before him that he
could not refuse to do as I bade him with-
out owning himself to be a rascal. Shall
I tell you what 1 think will come of
it?''

92 COUSIN HENRY.

'' What will come of it ? ''

'^He will not appear. I feel certain that
he will not have the courage to show himself
in the court. When the day comes, or, per-
haps, a day or two before, he will run away.^^

'^ What will you do then?''

^^Ah, that's the question. What shall we
do then ? He is bound to prosecute, and will
have to pay the penalty. In such a case as
this I think we could have him found and
brought into court for the next assizes.
But what could we do then ? Though we
were ever so rough to him in the way of con-
tempt of court and the rest of it, we cannot
take the property away. If he has got hold
of the will and destroyed it, or hidden it, we
can do nothing as to the property as long as he
is strong enough to hold his tongue. If he
can be made to speak, then I think we shall
get at it."

Mr. Balsam shook his head. He was quite
willing to believe that his client was as base

MR. CHEEKEY. 93

as Mr. Apjolin represented him to be ; but
lie was not willing to believe that Mr.
Cheekey was as powerful as had been as-
sumed.

94

CHAPTER YI

COUSIN HENRY GOES TO CARMARTHEN.

On his return from London Mr. Apjolin wrote
the following letter to his client, and this he
sent to Llanfeare by a clerk, who was instructed
to wait there for an answer : —
'^ My dear Sir, —

" I have just returned from London,
where I saw Mr. Balsam, who will be employed
on your behalf at the assizes. It is necessasry
that you should come into my office, so that I
may complete the instructions which are to be
given to counsel. As I could not very well
do this at Llanfeare without considerable in-
convenience, I must give you this trouble.
My clerk who takes this out to you will bring

COUSIN HENRY GOES TO CARMARTHEN, 95

back your answer, saying wlietlier eleven in the
morning to-morrow or three in the afternoon
will best suit your arrangements. You can
tell him also whether you would wish me to
send a fly for you. I believe that you still
keep your uncle^s carriage, in which case it
would perhaps be unnecessary. A message
sent by the clerk will suffice, so that you may
be saved the trouble of writing.
'^ Yours truly,

'^ Nicholas Apjohn.-"

The clerk had made his way into the book-
room in which Cousin Henry was sitting, and
stood there over him while he was reading the
letter. He felt sure that it had been arranged
by Mr. Apjohn that it should be so, in order
that he might not have a moment to consider the
reply which he would send. Mr. Apjohn had
calculated, traitor that he was to the cause of
his client, — so thought Cousin Henry, — that
the man's presence would rob him of his pre-

96 COUSIN HENRY.

sence of mind so as to prevent him from send-
ing a refusal.

*' I don't see why I should go into Carmar-
then at all/^ he said.

^^ Ohj sir, it-'s quite essential, — altogether
essential in a case such as this. You are
bound to prosecute, and of course you must
give your instructions. If Mr. Apjohn were
to bring everything out here for the purpose,
the expense would be tremendous. In going
there, it will only be the fly, and it will all be
done in five minutes/^

" Who will be there ? " asked Cousin Henry
after a pause.

'^ I shall be there,'^ answered the clerk, not
unnaturally putting himself first, "and Mr.
Apjohn, and perhaps one of the lads."

" There won't be any — barrister ? '^ asked
Cousin Henry, showing the extent of his fear
by his voice and his countenance.

" Oh, dear, no ; they won't be here till the
assizes. A barrister never sees his own client.

COUSIN HENRY GOES TO CARMAETHEN. 97

You'll go in as a witness, and will have no-
thing to do with the barristers till you're
put up face to face before them in the wit-
ness-box. Mr. Balsam is a very mild gentle-
man."

" He is employed by me ? "

" Oh, yes ; he's on our side. His own side
never matters much to a witness. It^s when
the other side tackles you ! '^

'^ Who is the other side ? " asked Cousin
Henry.

" Haven't you heard V^ The voice in which
this was said struck terror to the poor wretch's
soul. There was awe in it and pity, and some-
thing almost of advice, — as though the voice
were warning him to prepare against the evil
which was threatening him. '^ They have got
Mr. Cheekey ! '* Here the voice became even
more awful. '' I knew they would when I first
heard what the case was to be. They've gob
Mr. Cheekey. They don't care much about
money when they're going it like that. There

VOL. IT. 7T

98 COUSIN HENRY.

are many of them I have known awful enough,
but he's the awfuUest/'

" He can't eat a fellow/^ said Cousin Henry,
trying to look like a man witli good average
courage.

" No ; lie can't eat a fellow. It isn^t that
way he does it. I've known some of 'em who
looked as though they were going to eat a
man ; but he looks as thougb he were going to
skin you, and leave you bare for the birds to
eat you. He^s gentle enough at first, is Mr.
Cheekey.''

" What is it all to me ? '^ asked Cousin
Henry.

'^ Oh, nothing, sir. To a gentleman like
you wbo knows what he's about it's all no-
thing. What can Mr. Cheekey do to a gen-
tleman who has got nothing to conceal?
But wben a witness has something to hide, —
and sometimes there will be something, —
then it is that Mr. Cheekey comes out strong.
He looks into a man and sees that it's there.

COUSIN HENRY GOES TO CARSIAETHEN. 99

and then he turns him inside out till he gets at
it. That's what I call skinning a witness. I
saw a poor fellow once so knocked about by
Mr. Cheekey thafc they had to carry him down
speechless out of the witness-box.'^

It was a vivid description of all that Cousin
Henry had pictured to himself. And he had
actually, by his own act, subjected himself to
this process ! Had he been staunch in refus-
ing to bring any action against the newspaper,
Mr. Cheekey would have been powerless in
reference to him. And now he was summoned
into Carmarthen to prepare himself by minor
preliminary pangs for the torture of the auto-
da-fe which was to be made of him.

^'1 don't see why I should go into Carmar-
then at all,'' he said, having paused a while
after the eloquent description of the barrister's
powers.

'^ Not come into Carmarthen ! Why, sir,
you must complete the instructions."

'' I don't see it at all."
H 2

100 COUSIN HENRY.

'^ Then do you mean to back out of it alto -
getter, Mr. Jones ? I wouldn't be af eared by-
Mr. Cheekey like that ! "

Then it occurred to him that if he did mean
to back out of it altogether he could do so
better at a later period, when they might
hardly be able to catch him by force and briog
him as a prisoner before the dreaded tribunal.
And as it was his purpose to avoid the trial by
giving up the will, which he would pretend to
have found at the moment of giving it up, he
would ruin his own project, — as he had done
so many projects before, — by his imbecility at
the present moment. Cheekey would not be
there in Mr. Apjohn^s office, nor the judge
and jury and all the crowd of the court to
look at him.

^' I don^t mean to back out at all," he said ;
''and it^s very impertinent of you to say so."

" I didn't mean impertinence, Mr. Jones ;
— only it is necessary you should come into
Mr. Apjohn's office."

COUSIN HENET GOES TO CARMARTHEN. 101

^^ Yery well; 1^11 come to-morrow at three.'^
^' And about the fly, Mr. Jones ? "
'' I can come in my own carriage."
" Of course. That's what Mr. Apjohn said.
But if I may make so bold, Mr. Jones, —
wouldn't all the people in Carmarthen know
the old Squire^s carriage ? '^

Here was another trouble. Yes; all the
people in Carmarthen would know the old
Squire's carriage, and after all those passages
in the newspapers, — ^believing, as he knew
they did, that he had stolen the property^—
wouJd clamber up on the very wheels to look
at him ! The clerk had been right in that.

" I don't mean it for any impertinence, Mr.
Jones ; but wouldn't it be better just to come
in and to go out quiet in one of Mr. Powell's
flies ? "

^'^ Yery well," said Cousin Henry. " Let the
fly come."

^'I thought it would be best," said the
clerk, taking cowardly advantage of his success

102 COUSIN HENRY.

over the prostrate wretch. " What^s the use
of a gentleman taking his own carriage
through the streets on such an occasion as
this ? They are so prying into everything in
Carmarthen. Now^ when they see the Bush
fly, they won^t think as anybody particular is in
it.-*^ And so it was settled. The fly should be
at Llanfeare by two o'clock on the following
day.

Ohj if he could but die ! If the house
would fall upon him and crush him ! There
had not been a word spoken by that reptile of
a clerk which he had not understood, — not an
arrow cast at him the sting of which did not
enter into his very marrow ! " Oh, nothing,
sir, to a gentleman like you.'' The man had
looked at him as he had uttered the words
with a full appreciation of the threat conveyed.
*' They've got a rod in pickle for you ; — for
you, who have stolen your cousin's estate ! Mr.
Cheek ey is coming for you ! " ITiat was what
the miscreant of a clerk had said to him. And

COUSIN HENRY GOES TO CARMAKTHEN. 103

theiij thougli he had found himself compelled to
yield to that hint about the carriage^ how terrible
was it to have to confess that he was afraid to
be driven through Carmarthen in his own car-
riage !

He must go into Carmarthen and face Mr.
Apjohn once again. That was clear. He
could not now send the will in lieu of himself.
Why had he not possessed the presence of mind
to say to the clerk at once that no further steps
need be taken ? *^ No further steps need be
taken. I have found the will. Here it is. I
found it this very morning among the books.
Take it to Mr. Apjohn, and tell him I have
done with Llanfeare and all its concerns.''^
How excellent would have been the oppor-
tunity ! And it would not have been difficult
for him to act his part amidst the confusion to
which the clerk would have been brought by
the greatness of the revelation made to him.
But he had allowed the chance to pass, and
now he must go into Carmarthen !

104 COUSIN HENRY.

At half-past two tlie following day lie put
himself into the fly. During the morning he
had taken the will out of the book, determined
to carry it with him to Carmarthen in his
pocket. But when he attempted to enclose it
in an envelope for the purpose^ his mind mis-
gave him and he restored it. Hateful as was
the property to him, odious as were the house
and all things about it, no sooner did the doing
of the act by which he was to release himself
from them come within the touch of his fingers,
than he abandoned the idea. At such mo-
ments the estate would again have charms
for him, and he would remember that such
a deed, when once done, would admit of no
recall.

" I am glad to see you, Mr. Jones,'^ said the
attorney as his client entered the inner office.
" There are a few words which must be settled
between you and me before the day comes, and
no time has to be lost. Sit down, Mr. Eicketts,
and write the headings of the questions and

COUSIN HENRY GOES 70 CARMARTHEN. 105

answers. Then Mr. Jones can initial them
afterwards/'

Mr. Eicketts was the clerk who had come
out to Llanfeare. Cousin Henry sat silent as
Mr. Ricketts folded his long sheet of folio paper
with a double margin. Here was a new
terror to him ; and as he saw the prepara-
tions he almost made up his mind that he
would on no account sign his name to any-
thing.

• The instructions to be given to Mr. Balsam
were in fact very simple, and need not here be
recapitulated. His uncle had sent for him to
Llanfeare, had told him that he was to be the
heir, had informed him that a new will
had been made in his favour. After his
uncle's death and subsequent to the funeral,
he had heard a will read, and under that will
had inherited the property. As far as he be-
lieved, or at any rate as far as he knew, that
was his uncle's last will and testament. These
were the instructions which, under Mr. Ap-

106 COUSIN HENRY.

john^s advice^ were to be given to Mr. Balsam
as to his (Cousin Henry^s) direct evidence.

Then Cousin Henry, remembering his last
communication to Farmer Griffith, remember-
ing also all that the two Cantors could prove,
added something on his own account.

'^ I saw the old man writing up in his room,''
he said, '^ copying something which I knew to
be a will. I was sure then he was going to
make another change and take the property
from me." " No ; I asked him no questions.
I thought it very cruel, but it was of no use
for me to say anything.'' '^No; he didn't
tell me what he was about ; but I knew it was
another will. I wouldn't condescend to ask a
question. When the Cantors said that they
had witnessed a will, I never doubted them.
When you came there to read the will, I sup-
posed it would be found. Like enough it's there
now, if proper search were made. I can tell
all that to Mr. Balsam if he wants to know
it."

COUSIN HENRY GOES TO CARMAETHEN. 107

'' Why didn't you tell me all this before ? "
said Mr. Apjohn.

^'It isn't much to tell. It's only what I
thought. If what the Cantors said and what
you all believed yourselves didn't bring you to
the will, nothing I could say would help you.
It doesn't amount to more than thinking after
all."

Then Mr. Apjohn was again confused and
again in doubt. Could it be possible after all
that the conduct on the part of the man which
had been so prejudicial to him in the eyes of
all men had been produced simply by the an-
noyances to which he had been subjected ? It
was still possible that the old man had himself
destroyed the document which he had been
tempted to make, and that they had all of
them been most unjust to this poor fellow.
He added, however, all the details of this new
story to the instructions which were to be
given to Mr. Balsam, and to which Cousin
Henry did attach his signature.

108 COUSIN HENEY.

Then came some furtlier conversation about
Mr. Cheekey, wliicli, however^ did not take
an official form. What questions Mr. Cheekey
might ask would be between Mr. Cheekey and
the other attorney^ and formed no part of Mr.
Apjohn^s direct business. He had intended to
imbue his client with something of the horror
with which his clerk had been before him in
creating, believing that the cause of truth
would be assisted by reducing the man to the
lowest condition of mean terror. But this new
story somewhat changed his purpose. If the
man were innocent, — if there were but some
small probability of his innocence, — was it not
his duty to defend him as a client from ill-
usage on the part of Cheekey ? That Cheekey
must have his way with him was a matter of
course, — that is, if Cousin Henry appeared at
all; but a word or two of warning might be
of service.

" You will be examined on the other side by
Mr. Cheekey,^' he said, intending to assume a

COUSIN HENRY GOES TO CARMARTHEN. 109

pleasant voice. At the hearing of the awful
name^ sweat broke out on Cousin Henry's
brow. " You know what his line will be ? ''

*' I don't know anything about it.'*

" He will attempt to prove that another will
was made."

" I do not deny it. Haven't I said that I
think another will was made ? ''

'' And that you are either aware of its exis-
tence — ;'' here Mr. Apjohn paused, having
resumed that stern tone of his voice which was
so disagreeable to Cousin Henry's ears — '^ or
that you have destroyed it."

" What right has he got to say that I have
destroyed it ? I have destroyed nothing."

Mr. Apjohn marked the words well, and
was again all but convinced that his client was
not innocent. ^' He will endeavour to make a
jury believe from words coming out of your
own mouth, or possibly by your silence, that
you have either destroyed the deed,— or have
concealed it.'"'

110 COUSIN HENEY.

Cousin Henry thought a moment whether
he had concealed the will or not. No ! he had
not put it within the book. The man who
hides a thing is the man who conceals the
thing,— not a man who fails to tell that he
has found it.

'^'^Or — concealed it/' repeated Mr. Apjohn
with that peculiar voice of his.

'^ I have not concealed it,'' said the victim.

^' Nor know where it lies hidden ? " Ghastly
pale he became, — livid, almost blue by degrees.
Though he was fully determined to give up the
will, he could not yield to the pressure now
put upon him. Nor could he withstand it.
The question was as terrible to him as though
he had entertained no idea of abandoning the
property. To acknowledge that he knew all
along where it was hidden would be to confess
his guilt and to give himself up to the tor-
mentors of the law.

''Nor know where it lies hidden?'' repeated
Mr. Apjohn, in a low voice. *' Go out of the

COUSIN HENRY GOES TO CARMAETHEN. Ill

room, Ricketts/' lie said. '^ Nor know where
it lies hidden ? ^' lie asked a third time
when the clerk had closed the door behind
him.

" I know nothing about it/' gasped the poor
man.

" You have nothing beyond that to say to
me ? ''

'' Nothing.''

'^ You would rather that it should be left to
Mr. Cheekey? If there be anything further
that you can say, I should be more tender with
you than he."

"Nothing."

" And here, in this room, there is no public
to gaze upon you."

" Nothing," he gasped again.

" Yery well. So be it. Ricketts, see if the
fly be there for Mr. Jones." A few minutes
afterwards his confidential clerk was alone
with him in the room.

"I have learned so much, Ricketts," said

112 COUSIN HENRY.

he. '^ The will is still in existence. I am sure
of that. And lie knows its whereabouts. We
shall have Miss Brodrick there before Christ-
mas yet.^^

113

CHAPTER YIL

MR. APJOHN SENDS FOR ASSISTANCE.

The last words in the last chapter were
spoken by Mr. Apjohn to his confidential
clerk in a tone of triumph. He had picked
up something further^ and, conscious that he
had done so by his own ingenuity, was for a
moment triumphant. But when he came to
think over it all alone, — and he. spent many
hours just at present in thinking of this
matter, — he was less inclined to be self-satis-
fied. He felt that a great responsibility
rested with him, and that this weighed upon
him peculiarly at the present moment. He
was quite sure not only that a later will had
been made, but that it was in existence. It

VOL. II. I

114 COUSIN HENRY.

was concealed somewhere^ and Cousin Henry
knew tlie secret of its hiding-place. It had
existed^ at any rate, that morning ; but now
came the terrible question whether the man,
driven to his last gasp in his misery, would
not destroy it. Not only had Mr. Apjohn dis-
covered the secret, but he was well aware
that Cousin Henry was conscious that he had
done so, and yet not a word had been spoken
between them which, should the will now be
destroyed, could be taken as evidence that it
had ever existed. Let the paper be once
burnt, and Cousin Henry would be safe in
possession of the property. Mr. Cheekey
might torment his victim, but certainly would
not extract from him a confession such as
that. The hiding of the will, the very place
in which it was hidden, might possibly be
extracted. It was conceivable that ingenuity
on one side and abject terror on the other
might lead a poor wretch to betray the secret;
but'^'a man who has committed a felony

ME. APJOHN SENDS FOE ASSISTANCE. 115

will hardly confess the deed in a court of law.
Something of all this would, thought Mr.
Apjohn, occur to Cousin Henry himself, and
by this very addition to his fears he might be
driven to destroy the will. The great object
now should be to preserve a document which had
lived as it were a charmed life through so many
dangers. If anything were to be done with this
object, — any thing new, — it must be done at once.
Even now, while he was thinking of it. Cousin
Henry was being taken slowly home in Mr.
Powell's fly, and might do the deed as soon as
he found himself alone in the book-room.
Mr. Apjohn was almost sure that the will
was concealed somewhere in the book-room.
That long- continued sojourn in the chamber,
of which the whole county had heard so much,
told him that it was so. He was there always,
watching the hiding-place. Would it be well
that searchers should again be sent out, and
that they should be instructed never to leave
that room till after Cousin Henry's examina-
I 2

116 COUSIN HENRY.

tion should be over ? If so, it would be right
that a man should be sent off instantly on
horseback, so as to prevent immediate de-
struction. But then he had no power to take
such a step in reference to another man's
house. It was a question whether any magis-
trate would give him such a warrant, seeing
that search had already been made, and that,
on the failure of such search, the Squire's will
had already been proved. A man's house is
his castle, let the suspicion against him be
what it may, unless there be evidence to sup-
port it. Were he to apply to a magistrate, he
could only say that the man's own manner and
mode of speech had been evidence of his guilt.
And yet how much was there hanging, per-
haps, on the decision of the moment ! Whether
the property should go to the hands of her
who was entitled to enjoy it, or remain in the
possession of a thief such as this, might so
probably depend on the action which should
be taken, now, at this very instant !

MR. APJOHN SENDS FOR ASSISTANCE. 117

Mr. Ricketts, his confidential clerk, was
tlie only person witli whom lie had fully dis-
cussed all the details of the case, — the only
person to whom he had expressed his own
thoughts as they had occurred to him. He
had said a word to the clerk in triumph as
Cousin Henry left him, but a few minutes
afterwards recalled him with an altered
tone. ^' Ricketts," he said, '^ the man has
got that will with him in the book-room at
Llanfeare.'^

'^ Or in his pocket, sir,^-* suggested
Ricketts.

" I don't think it. Wherever it be at this
moment, he has not placed it there himself.
The Squire put it somewhere, and he has found
it.''

''The Squire was very weak when he made
that will, sir," said the clerk. " Just at that
time he was only coming down to the dining-
room, when the sun shone in just for an hour
or two in the day. If he put the will any-

118 COUSIN HENKY.

where^ it would probably be in bis bed-
room."

'' Tbe man occupies another chamber ? "
asked the attorney.

''Yes, sir; the same room he had before
his uncle died."

'' It^s in the book-room," repeated Mr.
Apjohn.

'' Then he must have put it there.'^

*^^But he didn^t. From his manner, and
from a word or two that he spoke, I feel
sure that the paper has been placed where it
is by other hands."

" The old man never went into the book-
room. I heard every detail of his latter life
from Mrs. Griffith when the search was going
on. He hadn't been there for more than a
month. If he wanted anything out of the
book-room, after the young lady went away, he
sent Mrs. Griffith for it."

*' What did he send for ? " asked Mr. Ap-
john.

MR. APJOHN SENDS FOE ASSISTANCE. 119

" He used to read a little sometimes^'^ said
the clerk.

" Sermons ? ^^ suggested Mr. Apjohn. " For
many years passed lie has read sermons to
himself whenever he has failed in going to
church. I have seen the volumes there on the
table in the parlour when I have been with
him. Did they search the books ? '^

" Had every volume off the shelves,
sir.^'

'^ And opened every one of them ? ^'

" That I can't tell. I wasn't there."

'' Every volume should have been shaken,"
said Mr. Apjohn.

*^ It's not too late yet, sir," said the
clerk.

" But how are we to get in and do it ? I
have no right to go into his house, or any
man's, to search it."

" He wouldn't dare to hinder you, sir."

Then there was a pause before anything
further was said.

120 COUSIN HENEY.

" The step is sucli a strong one to take/'
said the lawyer, *' when one is guided only by
one's own inner conviction. I have no tittle
of evidence in my favour to prove anything
beyond the fact that the old Squire in the
latter days of his life did make a will which
has not been found. For that we have searched,
and, not finding it, have been forced to admit
to probate the last will which we ourselves
made. Since that nothing has come to my
knowledge. Guided partly by the man's ways
while he has been at Llanfeare, and partly by
his own manner and hesitation, I have come
to a conclusion in my own mind; but it is
one which I would hardly dare to propose to
a magistrate as a ground for action."

" But if he consented, sir ? "

" Still, I should be hardly able to justify
myself for such intrusion if nothing were
found. We have no right to crush the poor
creature because he is so easily crushable. I
feel already pricks of conscience because I am

MR. APJOHN SENDS FOR ASSISTANCE. 121

bringing down Jack Cheekey upon him. If
it all be as I have suggested, — that the will
is hidden, let us say in some volume of ser-
mons there, — what probability is there that
he will destroy it now ? '^

*^ He would before the trial, I think.^^

'^ But not at once ? I think not. He will
not allow himself to be driven to the great
crime till the last moment. It is quite on the
cards that his conscience will even at last be
too strong for it."

'^ We owe him something, sir, for not de-
stroying it when he first found it."

" Not a doubt ! If we are right in all this,
we do owe him something, — at any rate,
charity enough to suppose that the doing of
such a deed must be very distasteful to him.
When I think of it I doubt whether he^ll do it
at all."

"He asked me why they didn^t come
and search again."

" Did he ? I shouldn't wonder if the poor

122 COUSIN HENRY.

devil would be glad enough to be relieved
from it all. Til tell you what FU do, Ric-
ketts. I'll write to Miss. Brodrick's father,
and ask him to come over here before the
trial. He is much more concerned in the
matter than I am, and should know as well
what ought to be done.''

The letter was written urging Mr. Brodrick
to come at once. '^ I have no right to tell
you," Mr. Apjohn said in his letter, "that
there is ground for believing that such a docu-
ment as that I have described is still existing.
I might too probably be raising false hope were
I to do so. I can only tell you of my own
suspicion, explaining to you at the same time
on what ground it is founded. I think it
would be well that you should come over and
consult with me whether further steps should
be taken. If so, come at once. The trial is-
fixed for Friday the 30th." This was written
on Thursday the 22nd. There was, therefore,
not much more than a week's interval.

MR. APJOHN SENDS FOR ASSISTANCE. 123

" You will come with me/' said Mr. Brod-
rick to the Eev. William Owen, after showing
to him the letter from the attorney at Here-
ford.

" Why should I go with you ? ''

'^ I would wish you to do so — on Isabel's
behalf.'^

" Isabel and I are nothing to each
other.''

"I am sorry to hear you say that. It
was but the other day that you declared
that sbe should be your wife in spite of
herself."

" So she shall, if Mr. Henry Jones be firmly
established at Llanfeare. It was explained to
me before why your daughter, as owner of
Llanfeare, ought not to marry me, and, as I
altogether agreed with the reason given, it
would not become me to take any step in this
matter. As owner of Llanfeare she will be
nothing to me. It cannot therefore be right
that I should look after her interests in that

124 COUSIN HENEY.

direction. On any otlier subject I would do
anything for her J'

The father no doubt felt that the two young
people were self-willed, obstinate, and con-
tradictory. His daughter wouldn't marry the
clergyman because she had been deprived of
her property. The clergyman now refused to
marry his daughter because it was presumed
that her property might be restored to her.
As, however, he could not induce Mr. Owen to
go with him to Carmarthen, he determined to
go alone. He did not give much weight to
this new story. It seemed to him certain that
the man would destroy the will, — or would
already have destroyed it, — if in the first in-
stance he was wicked enough to conceal it.
Still the matter was so great and the question
so important to his daughter's interest that
he felt himself compelled to do as Mr. Apjohn
had proposed. But he did not do it altogether
as Mr. Apjohn had proposed. He. allowed
others matters to interfere, and postponed his

MR. APJOHN SENDS FOR ASSISTANCE. 125

journey till Tuesday the 27tli of tlie montli.
Late on that evening he reached Carmarthen,
and at once went to Mr. Apjohn^s house.

Cousin Henry's journey into Carmarthen
had been made on the previous Thursday,
and since that day no new steps had been
taken to unravel the mystery, — none at least
which had reference to Llanfeare. No fur-
ther search had been made among the books.
All that was known in Carmarthen of
Cousin Henry during these days was that he
remained altogether within the house. Were
he so minded, ample time was allowed to him
for the destruction of any document. In the
town, preparation went on in the usual way
for the Assizes, at which the one case of inte-
rest was to be the indictment of Mr. Evans
for defamation of character. It was now sup-
posed by the world at large that Cousin
Henry would come into court; and because
this was believed of him there was some-
thing of a slight turn of public opinion in his

126 COUSIN HENRY.

favour. It would hardly be the case that
the mau, if really guilty^ would encounter
Mr. Cheekey.

During the days that had elapsed, even Mr.
Apjohn himself had lost something of his con-
fidence. If any further step was to be taken,
why did not the young lady's father himself
come and take it ? Why had he been so
dilatory in a matter which was of so much
greater importance to himself than to any
one else ? But now the two attorneys were
together, and it was necessary that they
should decide upon doing something, — or
nothing.

"1 hoped you would have been here last
week/' said Mr. Apjohn.

" I couldn't get away. There were things
I couldn't possibly leave."

" It is so important," said Mr. Apjohn.

'^ Of course it is important, — of most
vital importance, — if there be any hope."

MR. APJOHN SENDS FOR ASSISTANCE. 127

" I have fcold you exactly what I think and
feel.'^

" Yes, yes. 1 know how much more than
kind, how honourable you have been in all
this matter. You still think that the will is
hidden ? ''

"I did think so.''

" Something has changed your opinion ? "

'^ I can hardly say that either/* said Mr.
Apjohn. '^ There was ground on which to
form my opinion, and I do not know that
there is any ground for changing it. But in
such a matter the mind will vacillate. I did
think that he had found the will shut up in a
volume of sermons, in a volume which his
uncle had been reading during his illness, and
that he had left the book in its place upon the
shelf. That, you will say, is a conclusion too
exact for man to reach without anything in the
shape of absolute evidence.''

"I do not say so ; but then as yet I hardly

128 COUSIN HENRY.

know the process by wMcli that belief has
been reached/'

"But I say so; — I say that is too exact.
There is more of imagination in it than of true
deduction. I certainly should not recommend
another person to proceed far on such reason-
ing. You see it has been in this way.-*' Then
he explained to his brother attorney the pro-
. cess of little circumstances by which he had
arrived at his own opinion ; — the dislike of the
man to leave the house^ his clinging to one
room, his manifest possession of a secret as
evinced by his conversations with Farmer
Griffith, his continual dread of something, his
very clinging to Llanfeare as a residence which
would not have been the case had he destroyed
the will, his exaggerated fear of the coming
cross-examination, his ready assertion that he
had destroyed nothing and hidden nothing, —
but his failure to reply when he was asked
whether he was aware of any such conceal-
ment. Then the fact that the books had not

MR. APJOHN SENDS FOR ASSISTANCE. 129

been searched themselves, that the old Squire
had never personally used the room, but had
used a book or one or two books which had
been taken from it ; that these books had been
volumes which had certainly been close to him
in those days when the lost will was being
"written. All these and other little details
known to the reader made the process by
which Mr. Apjohn had arrived at the conclu-
sion which he now endeavoured to explain
to Mr. Brodrick.

" I grant that the chain is slight,^^ said Mr.
Apjohn, '^ so slight that a feather may break
it. The strongest point in it all was the look
on the man's face when I asked him the last
, question. Now I have told you everything,
and you must decide what we ought to
do.''

But Mr. Brodrick was a man endowed
with lesser gifts than those of the other at-
torney. In such a matter Mr. Apjohn was
sure to lead. '^ What do you think yourself ? "

VOL. II. K

130 COUSIN HENRY.

^^I would propose that we, you and I,
should go together over to Llaufeare to-mor-
row and ask him to allow us to make what
further search we may please about the house.
If he permitted this — ^^

^' But would he ? ''

" I think he would. I am not at all sure
but what he would wish to have the will found.
.If he did, we could begin and go through
every book in the library. We would begin
with the sermons, and soon know whether it
be as I have suggested."

" But if he refused ? "

" Then I think I would make bold to insist
on remaining there while you went to a magis-
trate. I have indeed already prepared Mr.
Evans of Llancolly, who is the nearest magis-
trate. I would refuse to leave the room, and
you would then return with a search warrant
and a pohceman. But as for opening the
special book or books, I could do that with or
without his permission. While you talk to

MR. APJOHN SENDS FOE ASSISTANCE. 131

him I will look round the room and see where
they are. I don^t think much of it all, Mr,
Brodrick ; but when the stake is so high, it
is worth playing for. If we fail in this, we
can then only wait and see what the redoubt-
able Mr. Cheekey may be able to do for
us.''

Thus it was settled that Mr. Brodrick and
Mr. Apjohn should go out to Llanfeare on the
following morning.

132

CHAPTER YIII.

DOUBTS.

''I KNOW nothing about it/' Cousin Henry
liad gasped out wlien asked by Mr. Apjobn,
wben Rickets, the clerk, had left the room,
whether he knew where the will was
hidden. Then, when he had declared he had
nothing further to say, he was allowed to
go away.

As he was carried back in the fly he felt
certain that Mr. Apjohn knew that there had
been a will, knew that the will was still
in existence, knew that it had been hidden
by some accident, and knew also that he,
Henry Jones, was aware of the place of
concealment. That the man should have

DOUBTS. 133

been so expert in reading the secret of
his bosom was terrible to him. Had the
man suspected him of destroying the will,
— a deed the doing of which might have been
so naturally suspected, — that would have
been less terrible. He had done nothing, had
committed no crime, was simply conscious of
the existence of a paper which it was a duty,
not of him, but of others to lind, and this man,
by his fearful ingenuity, had discovered it
all ! Now it was simply necessary that the
place should be indicated, and in order that
he himself might be forced to indicate it,
Mr. Cheekey was to be let loose upon
him !

How impossible, — how almost impossible
had he found it to produce a word in answer
to that one little question from Mr. Apjohn !
" Nor know where it is hidden ? " He
had so answered it as to make it mani-
fest that he did know. He was conscious
that he had been thus weak, though there had

134. COUSIN HENEY.

been nothing in Mr. Apjohn's manner to appall
him. How would it be with him when, hour
after hour, question after question should be
demanded of him, when that cruel tormentor
should stand there glaring at him in presence
of all the court ? There would be no need
of such hour, — no need of that prolonged
questioning. All that was wanted of him
would be revealed at once. The whole secret
would be screwed out of him by the first
turn of the tormentor's engine.

There was but one thing quite fixed in his
mind. Nothing should induce him to face Mr.
Cheekey, unless he should have made him-
self comparatively safe by destroying the will.
In that way he almost thought he might be
safe. The suffering would be great. The
rack and the thumbscrew^ the boots and the
wheel, would, to the delight of all those pre-
sent, be allowed to do their worst upon him
for hours. It would be a day to him terrible
to anticipate, terrible to endure, terrible

DOUBTS. 135

afterwards in liis memory; but he thought
that not even Mr. Cheekey himself would be
able to extract from him the admission of
such a deed as that.

And then by thai: deed he would undoubt-
edly acquire Llanfeare. The place itself was not
dear to him, but there was rising in his heart
so strong a feeling of hatred against those
who were oppressing him that it seemed to
him almost a duty to punish them by con-
tinued possession of the property. In this
way he could triumph over them all. If once
he could come down from Mr. Cheekey^s
grasp alive, if he could survive those fearful
hours, he would walk forth from the court the
undoubted owner of Llanfeare. It would be
as though a man should endure some excru-
ciating operation under the hands of a sur-
geon, with the assured hope that he might
enjoy perfect health afterwards for the remain-
der of his life.

To destroy the will was his only chance of

136 COUSIN HENEY.

escape. There was nothing else left to him,
knowing, as he did, that it was impossible for
him to put an end to his own life with his own
hands. These little plots of his, which he had
planned for the revelation of his secret with-
out the acknowledgment of guilt, had all
fallen to pieces as he attempted to execute
them. He began to be aware of himself that
anythiug that required skill in the execution
was impossible to him. But to burn the will
he was capable. He could surely take the
paper from its hiding-place and hold it down
with the poker when he had thrust it between
the bars. Or, as there was no fire provided in
these summer months, he could consume it by
the light of his candle when the dead hours of
the night had come upon him. He had already
resolved that, when he had done so, he would
swallow the tell-tale ashes. He believed of
himself that all that would be within his power,
if only he could determine upon the doing of
it.

DOUBTS. 137

And he thought that the deed when done
would give him a new courage. The very
danger to which he would have exposed him-
self would make him brave to avoid it. Hav-
ing destroyed the will, and certain that no eye
had seen him, conscious that his safety de-
pended on his own reticence, he was sure
that he would keep his secret even before Mr.
Cheekey.

'' I know nothing of the will,^' he would
say ; " I have neither seen it, nor hidden
it, nor found it, nor destroyed it.'^

Knowing what would be the consequences
were he to depart from that assertion, he
would assuredly cling to it. He would be
safer then, much safer than in his present
vacillating, half -innocent position.

As he was carried home in the fly, his
mind was so intent upon this, he was so
anxious to resolve to bring himself to do the
deed, that he hardly knew where he was when
the fly stopped at his hall door. As he entered

138 COUSIN HENRY.

his house, he stared about him as though
doubtful of his whereabouts, and then, with-
out speaking a word, made his way into the
book-room, and seated himself on his accus-
tomed chair. The woman came to him and
asked him whether money should not be given
to the driver.

'^ What driver ? '' said he. " Let him
go to Mr. Apjohn. It is Mr. Apjohn^s
business, not mine.^^ Then he got up
and shut the door violently as the woman
retreated.

Yes j it was Mr. Apjohn's business ; and he
thought that he could put a spoke into the
wheel of Mr. Apjohn's business. Mr. Apjohn
was not only anxious to criminate him now,
but had been anxious when such anxiety on
his part had been intrusive and impertinent.
Mr. Apjohn had, from first to last, been his
enemy, and by his enmity had created that
fatal dislike which his uncle had felt for him.
Mr. Apjohn was now determined to ruin him.

DOUBTS. 139

Mr. A.pjolin had come out to him at Llan-
feare, pretending to be his lawyer^ his friend,
his adviser, and had recommended this trea-
cherous indictment merely that he might be
able to subject him to the torments of Mr.
Cheekey's persecution. Cousin Henry could
see it all now ! So, at least. Cousin Henry
told himself.

^' He is a clever fellow, and he thinks that
I am a fool. Perhaps he is right, but he
will find that the fool has been too many for
him.'^

It was thus that he communed with him-
self.

He had his dinner and sat by himself
during the whole evening, as had been his prac-
tice every day since his nucleus death. But
yet this pecuhar night seemed to him to bo
eventful. He felt himself to be lifted into
some unwonted eagerness of life, something
approaching to activity. There was a deed
to be done, and though he was not as yet

140 COUSm HENRY.

doing it, though he did not think that he in-
tended to do it that very night, yet the fact
that he had made up his mind made him in
some sort aware that the dumb spirit which
would not speak had been exorcised, and that
the crushing dulness of the latter days had
passed away from him. No ; he could not do
it that night ; but he was sure that he would
do it. He had looked about for a way of
escape, and had been as though a dead man
while he could not find it. He had Hved in
terror of Mrs. Grifiith the housekeeper, of
Farmer Griffith, of the two Cantors, of Mr.
Apjohn, of that tyrant Cheekey, of his own
shadow, — while he and that will were existing
together in the same room. But it should be
so no longer. There was one way of escape,
and he would take it !

Then he went on thinking of what good
things might be in store for him. His spirit
had hitherto been so quenched by the vici-
nity of the will that he had never dared to

DOUBTS. 141

soar into thoughts of the enjoyment of money.
There had been so black a pall over every-
thing that he had not as yet realized what it
was that Llanfeare might do for him. Of
course he could not live there. Though he
should have to leave the house untenanted
altogether, it would matter but little. There
was no law to make a man live on his own
estate. He calculated that he would be able
to draw 1500Z. a year from the property; —
1500L a year ! That would be clearly his own ;
on which no one could lay a finger ; and what
enjoyment could he not buy with. 1500Z. a year ?
With a great resolve to destroy the will he
went to bed, and slept through the night as
best he could. In the dark of his chamber,
when the candle was out, and he was not yet
protected by his bed, there came a qualm upon
him. But the deed was not yet done, and the
qualm was kept under, and he slept. He
even repeated the Lord^s Prayer to himself
when he was under the clothes, struggling.

142 COUSIN HENRY.

howeveFj as lie did so, not to bring home to
himself that petition as to the leading into
temptation and the deliverance from evil.

The next day, the Friday, and the Saturday-
were passed in the same way. The resolution
was still there, but the qualms came every
night. And the salve to the qualm was always
the same remembrance that the deed had not
been done yet. And the prayer was always
said, morning and night, with the same persis-
tent rejection of those words which, in his pre-
sent condition, were so damning to him, — re-
jection from the intelligence though with the
whispering voice the words were spoken. But
still there was the resolve the same as ever.
There was no other way of escape. A stag,
when brought to bay, will trample upon the
hounds. He would trample upon them.
Llanfeare should all be his own. He
would not return to his clerk's desk to be the
scorn of all men, — to have it known that he
had fraudulently kept the will hidden, and then

DOUBTS. 143

revealed it, not of grace, but because he was
afraid of Mr. Cheekey. His mind was quite
made up. But the deed need not be yet done.
The fewer nights that he would have to pass
in that house, after the doing of the deed, the
better.

The trial was to be on the Friday. He
would not postpone the deed till the last day,
as it might be then that emissaries might
come to him, watching him to see that he did
not escape. Aud yet it would be well for
him to keep his hands clean from the doing
of it up to the last moment. He was quite
resolved. There was no other escape. And
yet, — yet, — yet, who would say what might
not happen ? Till the deed should have been
done, there would yet be a path open to the
sweet easiness of innocence. When it should
have been done, there would be a final adieu
to innocence. There would be no return to
the white way, no possibility of repentance!
How could a man repent while he was still

144 COUSIN HENRY.

holding the guilty prize which he had won ?
Or how could he give up the prize without
delivering himself as a criminal to the law ?
But, nevertheless, he was resolved, and he de-
termined that the deed should be done on the
Tuesday night.

During the whole Tuesday he was thinking
of it. Could he bring himself to believe that
all that story of a soul tormented for its
wickedness in everlasting fire was but an old
woman's tale ? If he could but bring himself
to believe that ! If he could do that, then
could he master his qualms. And why not ?
Eeligious thoughts had hitherto but httle trou-
bled his life. The Church and her services
had been nothing to him. He had lived
neither with the fear nor with the love of
God at his heart. He knew that, and was
but little disposed to think that a line of con-
duct which had never been hitherto adopted
by him would be embraced in his later life.
He could not think of himself as being even

DOUBTS. 145

desirous to be religious. Why, then, should
qualms afflict him ?

That prayer which he was accustomed to
repeat to himself as he went to rest was but a
trick of his youth. It had come down to him
from old, innocent days ; and though it was
seldom omitted^ without a shiver, nevertheless
it was repeated with contempt. In broad day-
light, or when boon companions had been with
him round the candles^ blasphemy had never
frightened him. But now, — now in his trou-
bles, he remembered that there was a hell.
He could not shake from himself the idea.
For unrepented sin there was an eternity of
torment which would last for ever ! Such
sin as this which he premeditated must remain
unrepented, and there would be torment
for him for ever. Nevertheless, he must do
it. And, after all, did not many of the wise
ones of the earth justify him in thinking that
that threat was but an old woman^s tale ?

Tuesday night came, — the late hours of

YOL. II. L

146 COUSIN HENRY.

Tuesday night,— the midnight hour at which
he was sure that the women were in bed. and
the will was taken out from its hiding-place.
He had already trimmed the wick and placed
the candle on an outspread newspaper, so
that no fragment of the ash should fall where
it might not be collected. He had walked
round the room to make himself sure that no
aperture might possibly be open. He put out
the candle so as to see that no gleam of light
from any source was making its way into the
room, and then relighted it. The moment
had come for the destruction of the document.
He read it all through yet again ; — why he
knew not, but in truth craving some excuse
for further delay. With what care the dying
old man had written every word and com-
pleted every letter ! He sat there contem-
plating the old man^s work, telling himself
that it was for him to destroy it utterly by
just a motion of his wrist. He turned
round and trimmed the candle again, and

DOUBTS. 147

still sat there with the paper in his hand.
Could it be that so great a result could come
from so short an act? The damning of his
own soul ! Would it in truth be the giving
up of his own soul to eternal punishment ?
God would know that he had not meant to
steal the property ! God would know that he
did not wish to steal it now ! God would
know that he was doing this as the only means
of escape from misery which others were
plotting for him ! God would know how
cruelly he had been used ! God would know
the injustice with which the old man had
treated him ! Then came moments in which
he almost taught himself to believe that in
destroying the will he would be doing no
more than an act of rough justice, and that
God would certainly condemn no one to
eternal punishment for a jizst act. But still,
whenever he would turn round to the candle, his
hand would refuse to raise the paper to the
flame. When done, it could not be undone I
L 2

148 COUSIN HENRY.

And wlietlier those eternal flames should or
should not get possession of him, there would
be before him a life agonized by the dread of
them. What could Mr. Cheekey do worse for
him than that ?

The Wednesday would at any rate do as
well. Why rob himself of the comfort of one
day during which his soul would not be
irretrievably condemned ? Now he might
sleep. For this night, at any rate, he might
sleep. He doubted whether he would ever
sleep again after the doing of the deed. To
be commonly wicked was nothing to him, —
nothing to break through all those ordinary
rules of life which parents teach their children
and pastors their flocks, but as to which the
world is so careless. To covet other men^s
goods, to speak evil of his neighbours, to run
after his neighbour's wife if she came in his
path, to steal a little in the ordinary way, —
such as selling a lame horse or looking over an
adversary's hand at whist, to swear to a lie^ or

DOUBTS. 149

to ridicule the memory of his parents, — these
peccadillos had never oppressed his soul. That
not telling of the will had been burdensome
to him only because of the danger of dis-
covery. But to burn a will, and thereby
clearly to steal 1500Z. a year from his
cousin ! To commit felony ! To do that
for which he might be confined at Dartmoor
all his life, with his hair cut, and dirty prison
clothes, and hard food, and work to do ! He
thought it would be well to have another day
of life in which he had not done the deed. He
therefore put the will back into the book and
went to his bed.

150

CHAPTER IX.

MR. APJOHN's success.

EAELYonthe Wednesday morning Mr. Apjohn
and Mr. Brodrick were on foot^ and preparing
tor the performance of their very disagreeable
day^s work. Mr. Brodrick did not believe at
all in the day^s work^ and in discussing the
matter with Mr. Apjohn^ after they had de-
termined upon their line of action, made his
mind known very clearly. To him it was
simply apparent that if the will had fallen
into the power of a dishonest person, and if
the dishonest man could achieve his purpose
by destroying it, the will would be destroyed.
Of Cousin Henry he knew nothing. Cousin
Henry might or might not be ordinarily

151

honest, as are other ordinary people. There
might be no such will as that spoken of, or
there might be a will accidentally hidden, — or
the will might have been found and destroyed.
But that they should be able to find a will,
the hiding-place of which should be known to
Cousin Henry, was to his thinking out of the
question. The subtler intellect of the other
lawyer appreciating the intricacies of a weak
man's mind saw more than his companion.
When he found that Mr. Brodrick did not
agree with him, and perceived that the other
attorney's mind was not speculative in such a
matter as this, he ceased to try to persuade,
and simply said that it was the duty of both
of them to leave no stone unturned. And so
they started.

"I'll take you about half a mile out of
our way to show you Mr. Evans's gate," Mr.
Apjohn said, after they had started. "His
house is not above twenty minutes from
Llanfeare, and should it be necessary to ask

152 COUSIN HENRY.

his assistance, lie will know all about it. You
will find a policeman there ready to come
back with you. But my impression is that
Cousin Henry will not attempt to prevent any
search which we may endeavour to make.^'

It was about ten when they reached the
house, and, on being shown into the book-
room, they found Cousin Henry at his break-
fast. The front door was opened for them by
Mrs. Griffith, the housekeeper; and when Mr.
Apjohn expressed his desire to see Mr. Jones,
she made no difficulty in admitting him at
once. It was a part of the misery of Cousin
Henry^s position that everybody around him
and near to him was against him. Mrs. Grif-
fith was aware that it was the purpose of Mr.
Apjohn to turn her present master out of
Llanfeare if possible, and she was quite will-
ing to aid him by any means in her power.
Therefore, she gave her master no notice of
the arrival of the two strangers, but ushered
them into the room at once.

163

Cousin Henry's breakfast was frugal. All
his meals had been frugal since he had become
owner of Llanfeare. It was not that he did
not like nice eating as well as another,
but that he was too much afraid of his own
servants to make known his own tastes. And
then the general discomforts of his position
had been too great to admit of relief from
delicate dishes. There was the tea-pot on the
table, and the solitary cup, and the bread and
butter, and the nearly naked bone of a cold
joint of mutton. And the things were not set
after the fashion of a well-to-do gentleman's
table, but were put on as they might be in a
third-rate London lodging, with a tumbled
tablecloth, and dishes, plates, and cups all
unlike each other.

'^ Mr. Jones,'' said the attorney from Car-
marthen, '^ this is your uncle, Mr. Brodrick,
from Hereford." Then the two men who
were so nearly connected, but had never
known each other, shook hands. ^^ Of

154 COUSIN HENRY.

course, this matter/' continued Mr. Apjohiij
*^ is of great moment, and Mr. Brodrick
lias come over to look after his daughter's
interests.''

" I am very glad to see my uncle/' said
Cousin. Henry, turning his eye involuntarily
towards the shelf on which the volume of
sermons was resting. " I am afraid I can^t
offer you much in the way of breakfast."

'^ We breakfasted before we left Carmar-
then," said Mr. Apjohn. " If you do not
mind going on, we will talk to you whilst you
are eating." Cousin Henry said that he did
not mind going on, but found it impossible to
eat a morsel. That which he did, and that
which he endured duriug that interview, he
had to do and had to endure fasting. '^ I had
better tell you at once," continued Mr. Ap-
john, " what we want to do now."

" What is it you want to do now ? I sup-
pose I have got to go into the assizes all the
same on Friday ?"

MR. APJOHN^S SUOCESS. 155".

" That depends. It is just possible that it
should turn out to be unnecessary.^'

As he said this, he looked into Cousin
Henry's face, and thought that he discerned
something of satisfaction. When he made
the suggestion, he understood well how great
was the temptation offered in the prospect of
not having to encounter Mr. Cheekey. ,

" Both Mr. Brodrick and I think it probable
that your uncle's last will may yet be con-
cealed somewhere in the house." Cousin
Henry's eye, as this was said, again glanced
up at the fatal shelf.

'' When Mr. Apjohn says that in my name,"
said Mr. Brodrick, opening his mouth for the
first time, ^' you must understand that I per-
sonally know nothing of the circumstances. I
am guided in my opinion only by what he
tells me."

"Exactly," said Mr. Apjohn. ''As the
father of the young lady who would be the
heiress of Llanf eare if you were not the heir.

156 COUSIN HENEY.

I have of course told him everything, — even
down to the most secret surmises of my
mind.'^

" All right/' said Cousin Henry.

'^ My position/' continued Mr. Apjohn, ^' is
painful and very peculiar; but I find myself
specially bound to act as the lawyer of the
deceased, and to carry out whatever was in
truth his last will and testament.''

" I thought that was proved at Carmarthen,"
said Cousin Henry.

" No doubt. A will was proved,— a will that
was very genuine if no subsequent will be
found. But, as you have been told repeatedly,
the proving of that will amounts to nothing
if a subsequent one be forthcoming. The
great question is this ; Does a subsequent will
exist ? "

" How am I to know anything about
it?"

'' Nobody says you do."

'^1 suppose you wouldn't come here and

MR. APJOHN-'S SUCCESS. 157

bring my uncle Brodrick down on me^ — giving
me no notice, but coming into my house
just when I am a.t breakfast, without saying a
word to any one, — unless you thought so. I
don^t see what right you have to be here at
all ! ''

He was trying to pluck up his spirit in
order that he might get rid of them. Why,
oh ! why had he not destroyed that docu-
ment when, on the previous night, it had
been brought out from its hiding-place, pur-
posely in order that it might be burned ?

" It is common, Mr. Jones, for one gentle-
man to call upon another when there is busi-
ness to be done,'' said Mr. Apjohn.

'^But not common to come to a gentle-
man's house and accuse him of making away
with a will."

"Nobody has done that," said Mr. Brod-
rick.

" It is very like it."

" Will you allow us to search again ? Two

158 COUSIN HENRY.

of my clerks will be here just now, and will go
through the house with us, if you will permit
it."

Cousin Heniy sat staring at them. Not
long ago he had himself asked one of Mr.
Apjohn^s clerks why they did not search
again. But then the framing of his thoughts
had been different. At that moment he had
been desirous of surrendering Llanfeare alto-
gether, so that he might also get rid of Mr.
Cheekey. Now he had reached a bolder pur-
pose. Now he was resolved to destroy the
will, enjoy the property, and face the barris-
ter. An idea came across his mind that they
would hardly insist upon searching instantly
if he refused. A petition to that effect had
already been made, and a petition implies the
power of refusal on the part of him petitioned.

*^ Where do you want to look ? " he asked.

Upon this Mr. Brodrick allowed his eyes to
wander round the room. And Cousin Henry's
eyes followed those of his uncle, which

159

seemed to him to settle themselves exactly
upon the one shelf.

'' To search the house generally ; your
uncle^s bed-room, for instance/^ said Mr. Ap-
john.

'^ Oh, yes ; you can go there.'' This he
said with an ill-formed, crude idea which
sprang to his mind at the moment. If they
would ascend to the bed-room, then he could
seize the will when left alone and* destroy it
instantly, — eat it bit by bit if it were neces-
sary, — go with it oat of the house and reduce
it utterly to nothing before he returned. He
was still a free agent, and could go and come
as he pleased. "Oh, yes; you can go
there.''

But this was not at all the scheme which
had really formed itself in Mr. Apjohn's brain.
" Or perhaps we might begin here," he
said. " There are my two clerks just arrived
in the fly."

Cousin Henry became first red and then

160 COUSIN HENEY.

pale, and lie endeavoured to see in what di-
rection Mr. Brodrick liad fixed his eye. Mr.
Apjohn himself had not as yet looked any-
where round the books. He had sat close at the
table, with his gaze fixed on Cousin Henry^s
face, as Cousin Henry had been well aware.
If they began to search in the room, they
would certainly find the document. Of that
he was quite sure. Not a book would be left
without having been made to disclose all that
it might contain between its leaves. If
there was any chance left to him, it must be
seized now, — now at this very moment. Sud-
denly the possession of Llanfeare was en-
deared to him by a thousand charms. Sud-
denly all fear of eternal punishment passed
away from his thoughts. Suddenly he was
permeated by a feeling of contrition for his
own weakness in having left the document
unharmed. Suddenly he was brave against
Mr. Cheekey, as would be a tiger against a
lion. Suddenly there arose in his breast a

MK. apjohn's success. 161

great desire to save tlie will even yet from
the hands of these Philistines.

'^ This is my private room," he said. ^^ When
I am eating my breakfast I cannot let you
disturb me like that."

'^ In a matter such as this you wouldn't
think of your own comfort ! " said Mr. Ap-
john severely. '^ Comfort, indeed ! What
comfort can you have while the idea is pre-
sent to you that this house in which you
live may possibly be the property of your
cousin ? "

'^It's very little comfort youVe left me
among you."

" Face it out, then, like a man ; and when
you have allowed us to do all that we can
on her behalf, then enjoy your own, and talk
of comfort. Shall I have the men in and go
on with the search as I propose ? "

If they were to find it, — as certainly they
would, — then surely they would not accuse
him of having hidden it ! He would be

162 COUSIN HENEY.

enabled to act some show of surprise, and
they would not dare to contradict him, even
should they feel sure in their hearts that
he had been aware of the concealment ! There
would be great relief! There would be an
end of so many troubles ! But then how weak
he would have been, — to have had the prize
altogether within his grasp and to have lost
it ! A burst of foul courage swelled in his
heart, changing the very colour of his charac-
ter for a time as he resolved that it should
not be so. The men could not search there,
— so he told himself, — without further autho-
rity than that which Mr. Apjohn could give
them. " I won't be treated in this way ! '^ he
said.

'' In what way do you mean, Mr. Jones ? "
" I won''t have my house searched as though
I were a swindler and a thief. Can you go
mto any man^s house and search it just as
you please, merely because you are an attor-
ney?"

163

'^You told my man the other daj/^ said
Mr. Apjohn, '^ that we might renew the search
if we pleased/'

''So jou may; but you must get an
order first from somebody. You are no-
body/'

''You are quite right/' said Mr. Apjohn,
who was not at all disposed to be angry in re-
gard to any observation offered personally to
himself. " But surely it would be better for
you that this should be done privately. Of
course we can have a search-warrant if it be
necessary ; but then there must be a police-
man to carry it out."

" What do I care for policemen ? " said
Cousin Henry. "It is you who have treated
me badly from first to last. I will do nothing
further at your bidding."

Mr. Apjohn looked at Mr. Brodrick,
and Mr. Brodrick looked at Mr. Apjohn.
The strange attorney would do nothmg
without directions from the other, and the

M 2

164 COUSIN HENRY.

attorney wlio was more at home was for a
few moments a little in doubt. He got up
from his chair, and walked about the room,
while Cousin Henry, standing also, watched
every movement which he made. Cousin Henry
took his place at the further end of the table
from the fire, about six feet from the spot on
which all his thoughts were intent. There he
stood, ready for action while the attorney
walked up and down the room meditating
what it would be best that he should do next.
As he walked he seem to carry his nose in the
air, with a gait different from what was usual
to him. Cousin Henry had already learned
something of the man^s ways, and was aware
that his manner was at present strange. Mr.
Apjohn was in truth looking along the rows
of the books. In old days he had often been
in that room, and had read many of the titles
as given on the backs. He knew the nature
of many of the books collected there, and was
aware that but verv few of them had ever

MR. APJOHN^S SUCCESS. 165

been moved from their places in tlie old
Sqnire's time for any purpose of use. He did
not wisli to stand and inspect them, — not as
yet. He walked on as though collecting his
thoughts, and as he walked he endeavoured to
fix on some long set of sermons. He had in
his mind some glimmering of a remembrance
that there was such a set of books in the
room. " You might as well let us do as we
propose/^ he said.

" Certainly not. To tell you the truth, I
wish you would go away, and leave me.''

'^ Mr. Cheekey will hear all about it, and
how will you be able to answer Mr.
Cheekey ? ''

^' I don't care about Mr. Cheekey. Who
is to tell Mr. Cheekey? Will you tell
him ? "

'' I cannot take your part, you know, if you
behave like this."

As he spoke, Mr. Apjohn had stopped his
walk, and was standing with his back close

166 COUSIN HENRY.

to the book-shelves, with the back of his head
almost touching the set of Jeremy Taylor's
works. There were ten volumes of them, and
he was standing exactly in front of them.
Cousin Henry was just in front of him, doubt-
ing whether his enemy's position had not
been chosen altogether by accident, but still
trembling at the near approach. He was pre-
pared for a spring if it was necessary. Any-
thing should be hazarded now, so that discovery
might be avoided. Mr. Brodrick was still
seated in the chair which he had at first occu-
pied, waiting till that order should be given
to him to go for the magistrate's warrant.

Mr. Apjohn's eye had caught the author's
name on the back of the book, and he remem-
bered at once that he had seen the volume, —
a volume with Jeremy Taylor's name on the
back of it, — lying on the old man's table.
^^ Jeremy Taylor's Works. Sermons." He
remembered the volume. That had been a
long time ago, — six months ago; but the old

167

man miglit probably take a long time over so
heavy a book. "You will let me look at
some of tliese/^ lie said, pointing with his
thumb over his back.

"You shall not touch a book without a
regular order/^ said Cousin Henry.

Mr. Apjohn fixed the man's eye for a mo-
ment. He was the smaller man of the two,
and much the elder; but he was wiry, well
set, and strong. The other was soft, and un-
used to much bodily exercise. There could be
no doubt as to which would have the best of
it in a personal struggle. Very quickly he
turned round and got his hand on one of the
set, but not on the right one. Cousin
Henry dashed at him, and in the struggle the
book fell to the ground. Then the attorney
seized him by the throat, and dragged him
forcibly back to the table. " Take them all
out one by one, and shake them,'^ he said to
the other attorney, — " that set like the one on
the floor. I'll hold him while you do it."

168 COUSIN HENRY.

Mr. Brodrick did as lie was told, and^ one
by one, beginning from tbe last volume, he
shook them all till lie came to volume 4. Out
of that fell the document.

" Is it the will ? " shouted Mr. Apjohn, with
hardly breath enough to utter the words.

Mr. Brodrick, with a lawyer's cautious hands,
undid the folds, and examined the document.
'' It certainly is a will,'^ he said, — '^ and is
signed by my brother-in-law ''

169

CHAPTER X.

HOW COUSIN HENEY WAS LET OFF EASILY.

It was a moment of great triumph and of
utter dismay, — of triumph to Mr. Apjohn, and
of dismay to Cousin Henry. The two men at
this moment, — as Mr. Brodrick was looking
at the papers, — were struggling together upon
the ground. Cousin Henry, in his last frantic
efforts, had striven to escape from the grasp of
his enemy so as to seize the will, not remem-
bering that by seizing it now he could retrieve
nothing. Mr. Apjohn had been equally deter-
mined that ample time should be allowed to
Mr. Brodrick to secure any document that might
be found, and, with the pugnacity which the
state of fighting always produces, had held on

170 COUSIN HENET.

to his prey with a firm grip. Now for the
one man there remained nothing but dismay ;
for the other was the full enjoyment of the
triumph produced by his own sagacity. ''^Here
is the date/^ said Mr. Brodrick^ who had re-
treated with the paper to the furthest corner
of the room. '' It is undoubtedly my brother-
in-law's last will and testament, and, as far as
I can see at a glance, it is altogether regular.'^
'^ You dog ! " exclaimed Mr. Apjohn,
spurning Cousin Henry away from him. " You
wretched, thieving miscreant ! ^' Then he got
up on to his legs and began to adjust himself,
setting his cravat right, and smoothing his
hair with his hands. " The brute has knocked
the breath out of me,'^ he said. "But only
to think that we should catch him after
such a fashion as this ! '^ There was a note of
triumph in his voice which he found it impos-
sible to repress. He was thoroughly proud of
his achievement. It was a grand thing to him
that Isabel Brodrick should at last get the

HOW COUSIN HENRY WAS LET OFF EASILY. 171

property whicli he had so long been anxious
to secure for her ; but at the present moment
it was a grander thing to have hit the exact
spot in which the document had been hidden
by sheer force of intelligence.

What little power of fighting there had ever
been in Cousin Henry had now been altogether
knocked out of him. He attempted no fur-
ther struggle, uttered no denial, nor did he
make any answer to the words of abuse which
Mr. Apjohn had heaped on his head. He too
raised himself from the floor, slowly collecting
his limbs together, and seated himself in the
chair nearest at hand, hiding his face with his
hand.

" That is the most wonderful thing that
ever came within my experience,'^ said Mr.
Brodrick.

''That the man should have hidden the
will ? '' asked Mr. Apjohn.

" Why do you say I hid it ? '' moaned Cousin
Henry.

172 COUSIN HENEY.

" You reptile ! '' exclaimed Mr. Apjolin.

'^ Not that lie should have hidden it/' said
the Hereford attorney, ^^ but that you should
have found it, and found it without any search;
— that you should have traced it down to the
very book in which the old man must have
left it ! ''

^^Yes," said Cousin Henry. "He left it
there. I did not hide it.*'

^^Do you mean/' said Mr. Apjohn, turning
upon him with all the severity of which he
was capable, ^' do you mean to say that dur-
ing all this time you have not known that the
will was there ? " The wretched man opened
his mouth and essayed to speak, but not a
word came. "Do you mean to tell us that
when you refused us just now permission to
search this room, though you were willing
enough that we should search elsewhere, you
were not acquainted with the hiding-place ?
When I asked you in my office the other day
whether you knew where the will was hidden,

HOW COUSIN HENRY WAS LET OFF EASILY. 173

and you wo uldn^t answer me for very fear, though
you were glib enough in swearing that you
had not hidden it yourself, then you knew no-
thing about the book and its enclosure ? When
you told Mr. Griffith down at Coed that you
had something to divulge, were you not then
almost driven to tell the truth by your das-
tardly cowardice as to this threatened trial ?
And did you not fail again because you were
afraid ? You mean poltroon ! Will you dare to
say before us, now, that when we entered the
room this morning you did not know what that
book contained ? " Cousin Henry once more
opened his mouth, but no word came. " An-
swer me, sir, if you wish to escape any part of
the punishment which you have deserved.^^

" You should not ask him to criminate him-
self,^^ said Mr. Brodrick.

" No ! " shrieked Cousin Henry ; " no ! he
shouldn^t ask a fellow to tell against himself.
It isn't fair ; is it. Uncle Brodrick ? '"

" If I hadn't made you tell against yourself

174 COUSIN HENEY.

one way or another/' said Mr. Apjohn, ^' tlie
will would have been there still, and we
should all have been in the dark. There are
occasions in which the truth must be screwed
out of a man. We have screwed it out of you,
you miserable creature ! Brodrick, let us look
at the paper. I suppose it is all right.'' He
was so elated by the ecstasy of his success that
he hardly knew how to contain himself. There
was no prospect to him of any profit in all
this. It might, indeed, well be that all the
expenses incurred, including the handsome
honorarium which would still have to be paid
to Mr. Cheekey, must come out of his own
pocket. But the glory of the thing was too
great to admit of any considerations such as
those. For the last month his mind had been
exercised with the question of this will,
whether there was such a will or not, and, if
so, where was its hiding-place? Now he
had brought his month's labour, his month's
speculation, and his month's anxiety to a

HOW COUSIN HENRY WAS LET OFF EASILY. 175

supreme success. In his present frame of mind
it was nothing to him who might pay the bill.
'^As far as I can see/^ said Mr. Brodrick^
" it is altogether in order.^'

"Let us look at it." Then Mr. Apjohn,
stretching out his hand, took the document,
and, seating himself in Cousin Henry's own
chair at the breakfast-table, read it through
carefully from beginning to end. It was won-
derful, — the exactness with which the old
Squire had copied, not only every word, but
every stop and every want of a stop in the
preceding will. " It is my own work, every
morsel of it," said Mr. Apjohn, with thorough
satisfaction. '^ Why on earth did he not burn
the intermediate one which he made in this
rascal's favour," — then he indicated the rascal
by a motion of his head — " and make it all
straight in that way ? "

" There are men who think that a will once
made should never be destroyed," suggested
Mr. Brodrick.

176 COUSIN HENRY.

'^ I suppose it was something of that kind.
He was a fine old fellow, but as obstinate as a
mule. Well, what are we to do now ? ''

" My nephew will have to consult his lawyer
whether he will wish to dispute this docu-
ment or not."

'' I do not want to dispute anything/* said
Cousin Henry, whining.

" Of course he will be allowed time to think
of it," said Mr. Apjohn. "He is in posses-
sion now, and will have plenty of time. He
will have to answer some rather diflB.cult ques-
tions from Mr. Cheekey on Friday."

" Oh, no ! " shouted the victim.

" I am afraid it must be ^ oh, yes,' Mr. Jones !
How are you to get out of it ; eh ? You are
bound over to prosecute Mr. Evans, of the
Herald, for defamation of character. Of course
it will come out at the trial that we have found
this document. Indeed, I shall be at no
trouble to conceal the fact, — nor, I suppose,
will be Mr. Brodrick. Why should we ? "

HOW COUSIN HENRY WAS LET OFF EASILY. 177

"I thoiiglit you were acting as my law-
yer."

'^ So I was, — and so I am, — and so I will.
While you were supposed to be an honest man,
— or, rather, while it was possible that it might
be so supposed, — I told you what, as an honest
man, you were bound to do. The Carmarthen
Herald knew that you were not honest, — and
said so. If you are prepared to go into the
court and swear that you knew nothing of the
existence of this document, that you were not
aware that it was concealed in that book, that
you did nothing to prevent us from looking
for it this morning, I will carry on the case
for you. If I am called into the witness-box
against you, of course I must give my evi-
dence for what it is worth ; — and Mr. Brodrick
must do the same.''

" But it won't go on ? " he asked.

''Not if you are prepared to admit that
there was no libel in all that the newspaper
said. If you agree that it was all true, then

178 COUSm HENEY.

you will have to pay the costs on both sides^ and
the indictment can be quashed. It will be a
serious admission to make, but perhaps that
won^t signify, seeing what your position as to
character will he."

" I think you are almost too hard upon him/'
said Mr. Brodrick.

" Am I ? Can one be too hard on a man
who has acted as he has done ? "

" He is hard,— isn't he, Mr. Brodrick ? ''

"Hard! Why, yes; — I should think I am.
I mean to be hard. I mean to go on tram-
pling you to pieces till I see your cousin. Miss
Brodrick, put into full possession of this estate.
I don't mean to leave you a loop-hole of escape
by any mercy. At the . present moment you
are Henry Jones, Esq., of Llanfeare, and will
be so till you are put out by the hard hand of
the law. You may turn round for anything I
know, and say that this document is a for-
gery."

"No, no!"

HOW COUSIN HENRY WAS LET OFF EASILY. 170

" That Mr. Brodrick and I brouglit it here
with us and put it in the book.^'

" I sha'n^t say anything of the kind.''

" Who did put it there ? '' Cousin Henry
sobbed and groaned, but said nothing. '^ Who
did put it there ? If you want to soften our
hearts to you in any degree, if you wish us to
contrive some mode of escape for you, tell the
truth. Who put the will into that book ? "

'' How am I to know ? ''

"You do know ! Who put it there ? ''

" I suppose it was Uncle Indefer.''

" And you had seen it there ? '' Again
Cousin Henry sobbed and groaned.

" You should hardly ask him that," said Mr.
Brodrick.

" Yes ! If any good can be done for him, it
must be by making him feel that he must
help us by making our case easy for us. You
had seen it there ? Speak the word, and we
will do all we can to let you off easily."

" Just by an accident," said he.

N 2

180 COUSIN HENRY.

" You did see it, then ? "

" Yes ; — I chanced to see it/^

"Yes; of course you did. And then the
Devil went to work with you and prompted
you to destroy it ? ^' He paused as though
asking a question, but to this question Cousin
Henry found it impossible to make any an-
swer. '^But the Devil had not quite hold
enough over you to make you do that ? It was
so; — was it not? There was a conscience
with you ? '^

" Oh, yes/'

" But the conscience was not strong enough
to force you to give it up when you found it t'*
Cousin Henry now burst out into open tears.
'' That was about it, I suppose ? If you can
bring yourself to make a clean breast of it, it
will be easier for you.^'

" May I go back to London at once ? '^ he
asked.

" Well ; as to that, I think we had better
take some little time for consideration. But I

HOW COUSIN HENRY WAS LET OFF EASILY. 181

think I may say tliat^ if you will make our way
easy for us, we will endeavour to make yours
easy for you. You acknowledge this to be
your uncle's will as far as you know ? ''

'^ Oh, yes.''

^^ You acknowledge that Mr. Brodrick found
it in this book which I now hold in my
hand ? "

" I acknowledge that."

" This is all that I will ask you to sign your
name to. As for the rest, it is sufficient that
you have confessed the truth to your uncle and
to me. I will just write a few lines that you
shall sign, and then we will go back to Car-
marthen and do the best we can to prevent the
trial for next Friday." Thereupon Mr. Ap-
john rang the bell, and asked Mrs. Griffith to
bring him paper and ink. With these he
wrote a letter addressed to himself, which he
invited Cousin Henry to sign as soon as he
had read it aloud to him and to Mr. Brodrick.
The letter contained simply the two admissions

182 COUSIN HENRY.

above stated^ and then went on to authorize
Mr. Apjolin, as the writer^s attorney, to with-
draw the indictment against the proprietor of
the Carmarthen Herald, "in consequence/^ as
the letter said, '* of the question as to the pos-
session of Llanfeare having been settled now in
an unexpected manner/'

When the letter was completed, the two
lawyers went away, and Cousin Henry was
left to his own meditation. He sat there for
a while, so astounded by the transaction of the
morning as to be unable to collect his thoughts.
All this that had agitated him so profoundly
for the last month had been set at rest by the
finding of the will. There was no longer any
question as to what must be done. Everything
had been done. He was again a London
clerk, with a small sum of money besides his
clerkship, and the security of lowliness into
which to fall back ! If only they would be
silent; — if only it might be thought by his
fellow-clerks in London that the will had been

HOW COUSIN HENRY WAS LET OFF EASILY. 183

found by tliem witliout any knowledge on his
part, — tlien he would be satisfied. A terrible
catastrophe had fallen upon him, but one
which would not be without consolation if with
the estate might be made to pass away from
him all responsibilities and all accusations as
to the estate. That terrible man had almost
promised him that a way of retreat should be
made easy to him. At any rate, he would not
be cross-examined Mr. Cheekey. At any
rate, he would not be brought to trial. There
was almost a promise, too, that as little should
be said as possible. There must, he supposed,
be some legal form of abdication on his part,
but he was willing to execute that as quickly as
possible on the simple condition that he should
be allowed to depart without being forced to
speak further ou the matter to any one in
Wales. Not to have to see the tenants, not to
have to say even a word of farewell to the
servants, not to be carried into Carmarthen, —
above all, not to face Mr. Cheekey and the

184 COUSIN HENRY.

Courts — this was all lie asked now from a
kind Fate.

At about two Mrs. Griffith came into tlie
room, ostensibly to take away the breakfast
things. She had seen the triumphant face of
Mr. Apjohn, and knew that some victory had
been gained. But when she saw that the
breakfast had not been touched, her heart be-
came soft. The way to melt the heart of a
Mrs. Griffith is to eat nothing. '^Laws, Mr.
Jones, you have not had a mouthful. Shall I
do you a broil ? '^ He assented to the broil,
and ate it, when it was cooked, with a better
appetite than he had enjoyed since his uncle's
death. Gradually he came to feel that a great
load had been taken from off his shoulders.
The will was no longer hidden in the book.
Nothing had been done of which he could not
repent. There was no prospect of a life be-
fore him made horrid by one great sin. He
could not be Squire of Llanf eare ; nor would he
be a felon, — a felon always in his own esteem.

HOW COUSIN HENRY WAS LET GPP EASILY. 185

Upon the whole, thougli he hardly admitted as
much to himself, the man's condition had been
improved by the transactions of the morning.

**^ You don't quite agree with all that I have
done this morning/' said Mr. Apjohn, as soon
as the two lawyers were in the fly together.

'^ I am lost in admiration at the clearness of
your insight."

'' Ah ! that comes of giving one's undivided
thoughts to a matter. I have been turning it
over in my mind till I have been able to see it
all. It was odd, wasn't it, that I should have
foretold to you all that happened, almost to the
volume ? "

'^ Quite to the volume ! "

'^ Well, yes ; to the volume of sermons. Your
brother-in-law read nothing but sermons.
But you thought I shouldn't have asked those
questions."

" I don't like making a man criminate him-
self," said Mr. Brodrick.

'' Nor do I, — if I mean to criminate him too.

186 COUSIN HENRY.

My object is to let him off. Bat to enable us
to do that we must know exactly what he
knew and what he had done. Shall I tell you
what occurred to me when you shook the will
out of the book ? How would it be if he de-
clared that we had brought it with us ? If he
had been sharp enough for that, the very fact
of our having gone to the book at once would
have been evidence against us."

'^ He was not up to it."

^^ No, poor devil ! I am inclined to think
that he has got as bad as he deserves. He
might have been so much worse. We owe him
ever so much for not destroying the will. His
cousin will have to give him the 4000Z. which
he was to have given her."

" Certainly, certainly."

^^ He has been hardly used, you know, by
his uncle ; and, upon my word, he has had a
bad time of it for the last month. I wouldn't
have been hated and insulted as he has been
by those people up there, — not for all Llan-

HOW COUSIN HENRY WAS LET OFF EASILY. 187

feare twice over. I think weVe quenched him
nowj SO that he^ll run smooth. If so, we^U let
him off easily. If I had treated him less
hardly just now, he might have gathered cou-
rage and turned upon us. Then it would
have been necessary to crush him altogether.
I was thinking all through how we might
let him off easiest."

188

CHAPTER XI.

The news was soon all about Carmarthen. A
new will had been founds in accordance with
which Miss Brodrick was to become owner of
Llanfeare^ and^ — which was of more impor-
tance to Carmarthen at the present moment,
— there was to be no trial ! The story, as told
publicly, was as follows ; — Mr. Apjohn, by his
sagacity, had found the will. It had been
concealed in a volume of sermons, and Mr.
Apjohn, remembering suddenly that the old
man had been reading these sermons shortly
before his death, had gone at once to the book.
There the will had been discovered, which had
at once been admitted to be a true and formal

189

document by tlie unhappy pseudo-proprietor.
Henry Jones had acknowledged his cousin to
be the heiress, and under these circumstances
had conceived it to be useless to go on with
the trial. Such was the story told, and Mr.
Apjohn, fully aware that the story went very
lame on one leg, did his best to remedy the
default by explaining that it would be unreason-
able to expect that a man should come into
court and undergo an examination by Mr.
Cheekey just when he had lost a fine property.
'' Of course I know all that/^ said Mr. Ap-
john, when the editor of the paper remarked
to him that the libel, if a libel, would be just
as much a libel whether Mr. Henry Jones were
or were not the owner of Llanfeare. " Of
course I know all that ; but you are hardly to
expect that a man is to come and assert him-
self amidst a cloud of difficulties when he has
just undergone such a misfortune as that !
You have had your fling, and are not to be
punished for it. That ought to satisfy you.""

190 COUSIN HENEY.

'^ And who'll pay all the expenses ? '' asked
Mr. Evans.

"Well/' said Mr. Apjohn, scratching his
head ; " you, of course, will have to pay
nothing. Geary will settle all that with
me. That poor devil at Llanfeare ought to

pay."

" He won't have the money."

"' I, at any rate, will make it all right with
Geary ; so that needn't trouble you."

This question as to the expense was much
discussed by others in Carmarthen, Who
in truth would pay the complicated lawyers'
bill which must have been occasioned, in-
cluding all these flys out to Llanfeare ? In
spite of Mr. Apjohn's good-natured explana-
tions, the public of Carmarthen was quite
convinced that Henry Jones had in truth hid-
den the will. If so, he ought not only
to be made to pay for everything, but be
sent to prison also and tried for felony.
The opinion concerning Cousin Henry in

191

Carmartlien on the Thursday and Friday was
very severe indeed. Had he shown himself in
the town, he would almost have been pulled in
pieces. To kill him and to sell his carcase
for what it might fetch towards lessening the
expenses which he had incurred would not be
too bad for him. Mr. Apjohn was_, of course,
the hero of the hour, and, as far as Carmar-
then could see, Mr. Apjohn would have to
pay the bill. All this, spoken as it was
by many mouths, reached Mr. Brodrick^s ears,
and induced him to say a word or two to Mr.
Apjohn.

" This affair,^' said he, " will of course be-
come a charge upon the property ? ^'

" What affair ? "

" This trial which is not to take place, and
the rest of it."

'^ The trial will have nothing to do with the
estate," said Mr. Apjohn.

" It has everything to do with it. I only
mention it now to let you know that, as Isabels

192 COUSIN HENRY.

fatter^ I shall make it my business to look
after that/'

'^ The truth is, Brodrick/'' said the Carmar-
then attorney, with that gleam of triumph in
his eye which had been so often seen there
since the will had tumbled out of the volume
of sermons in the book-room, "the whole of
this matter has been such a pleasure to me
that I don^t care a straw about the costs. If
I paid for it all from, beginning to end
out of my own pocket, I should have had my
whack for my money. Perhaps Miss Isabel
will recompense me by letting me make her
will some day.''

Such were the feelings and such were the
words spoken at Carmarthen ; and it need only
be said further, in regard to Carmarthen, that
the operations necessary for proving the
later will and annulling the former one, for
dispossessing Cousin Henry and for putting
Isabel into the full fruition of all her honours,
went on as quickly as it could be effected by

193

the concentrated energy of Mr. Apjohn and all
his clerks.

Cousin Henry, to whom we may be now
allowed to bid farewell, was permitted to remain
within the seclusion of the house at Llanfeare
till his signature had been obtained to the last
necessary document. No one spoke a word to
him ; no one came to see him. If there were
intruders about the place anxious to catch a
glimpse of the pseudo-Squire, they were dis-
appointed.

Mrs. Griffith, under the attorney's instruc-
tions, was more courteous to him than she
had been when he was her master. She en-
deavoured to get him things nice to eat,
trying to console him by titbits. None of
the tenants appeared before him, nor was
there a rough word spoken to him, even by
young Cantor.

In all this Cousin Henry did feel some con-
solation, and was greatly comforted when he
heard from the office in London that his

194 COUSIN HENEY.

stool at the desk was still kept open for
him.

The Carmarthen Herald, in its final allu-
sion to the state of things at Llanfeare, simply
decWed that the proper will had been found
at last, and that Miss Isabel Brodrick was to
be restored to her rights. Guided by this
statement, the directors in London were con-
tented to regard their clerk as having been
unfortunate rather than guilty.

For the man himself, the reader, it is hoped,
will feel some compassion. He had been
dragged away from London by false hopes.
After so great an injury as that inflicted on
him by the last change in the Squire^s purpose
it was hardly unnatural that the idea of retalia-
tion should present itself to him when the
opportunity came in his way. Not to do that
which justice demands is so much easier to
the conscience than to commit a deed which
is palpably fraudulent ! At the last his con-
science saved him, and Mr. Apjohn will perhaps

195

be thouglit to have been right in declaring
that much was due to him in that he had not
destroyed the will. His forbearance was re-
compensed fully.

As soon as the money could be raised on the
property, the full sum of 4000L was paid to
him, that having been the amount with which
the Squire had intended to burden the property
on behalf of his niece when he was minded to
put her out of the inheritance.

It may be added that, notorious as the whole
affair was at Carmarthen, but little of Cousin
Henry's wicked doings were known up in
London.

We must now go back to Hereford. By

agreement between the two lawyers, no

tidings of her good fortune were at once sent

to Isabel. ^^ There is so many a slip 'twixt

the cup and the lip,'' said Mr. Apjohn to her

uncle. But early in the following week Mr.

Brodrick himself took the news home with

him.

o 2

196 COUSIN HENRY.

" My dear/^ he said to her as soon as lie
found himself alone with her, — having given
her intimation that an announcement of great
importance was to be made to her_, — ^' it turns
out that after all your Uncle Indefer did make
another will/^

" I was always quite sure of that, papa/^

" How were you sure ? '^

'^ He told me so, papa/'

'^ He told you so ! I never heard that
before/"'

*^ He did, — when he was dying. What was
the use of talking of it? But has it been
found?''

''It was concealed within a book in the
library. As soon as the necessary deeds can
be executed Llanfeare will be your own. It
is precisely word for word the same as that
which he had made before he sent for your
Cousin Henry."

♦' Then Henry has not destroyed it ? "

'' No, he did not destroy it."

197

" Nor hid it where we could not find it ? '^

''Nor did he hide it/^

'' Oh, how I have wronged him ; — how I
have injured him ! ^'

'' About that we need say nothing, Isabel.
You have not injured him. But we may let
all that pass away. The fact remains that you
are the heiress of Llanfeare.''

■ Of course he did by degrees explain to her
all the circumstances, — how the will had been
found and not revealed, and how far Cousin
Henry had sinned in the matter ; but it was
agreed between them that no further evil should
be said in the family as to their unfortunate
relative. The great injury which he might
have done to them he had abstained from
doing.

''Papa,^^ she said to her father when they were
again together alone that same evening, '' you
must tell all this to Mr. Owen. You must tell
him everything, just as you have told me.^'

'' Certainly, my dear, if you wish it.^'

198 COUSIN HENRY.

^a do wish it/'

" Why should you not have the pleasure of
telling him yourself ? ''

" It would not be a pleasure, and therefore
I will get you to do it. My pleasure, if there
be any pleasure in it, must come afterwards.
I want him to know it before I see him my-
self.^'

" He will be sure to have some stupid
notion,^' said her father, smiling.

" I want him to have his notion, whether it
be stupid or otherwise, before I see him. If
you do not mind, papa, going to him as soon
as possible, I shall be obliged to you.''

Isabel, when she found herself alone, had
her triumph also. She was far from being
dead to the delights of her inheritance. There
had been a period in her life in which she had
regarded it as her certain destiny to be the
possessor of Llanfeare, and she had been proud
of the promised position. The tenants had
known her as the future owner of the acres

199

which they cultivated^ and had entertained for
her and shown to her much genuine love. She
had made herself acquainted with every home-
stead, landmark, and field about the place.
She had learnt the wants of the poor, and the
requirements of the little school. Everything
at Llanfeare had had an interest for her. Then
had come that sudden change in her nucleus
feelings, — that new idea of duty, — and she
had borne it like a heroine. Not only had she
never said a word of reproach to him, but she
had sworn to herself that even in her own
heart she would throw no blame upon him. A
great blow had come upon her, but she had
taken it as though it had come from the
hand of the Almighty, — as it might have been
had she lost her eyesight, or been struck with
palsy. She promised herself that it should be
so, and she had had strength to be as good as
her word. She had roused herself instantly
from the effect of the blow, and, after a day of
consideration, had been as capable as ever to

200 COUSIN HENRY.

do the work of her life. Then had come her
uncle's last sickness, those spoken but doubt-
fal words, her uncle's death, and that convic-
tion that her cousin was a felon. Then she
had been unhappy, and had found it difficult
to stand up bravely against misfortune. Added
to this had been her stepmother's taunts and
her father's distress at the resolution she had
taken. The home to which she had returned
had been thoroughly unhappy to her. And
there had been her stern purpose not to give
her hand to the man who loved her and whom
she so dearly loved ! She was sure of her pur-
pose, and yet she was altogether discontented
with herself. She was sure that she would
hold by her purpose, and yet she feared that
her purpose was wrong. She had refused the
man when she was rich, and her pride would
not let her go to him now that she was
poor. She was sure of her purpose, — but
yet she almost knew that her pride was
wrong.

201

But now there would be a triumpli. Her
eyes gleamed brightly as she thought of the
way in which she would achieve her triumph.
Her eyes gleamed very brighty as she felt sure
within her own bosom that she would succeed.
Yes : he would_, no doubt, have some stupid
notion, as her father said. But she would
overcome his stupidity. She, as a woman,
could be stronger than he as a man. He had
almost ridiculed her obstinacy, swearing that
he would certainly overcome it. There should
be no ridicule on her part, but she would cer-
tainly overcome his obstinacy.

For a day or two Mr. Owen was not seen.
She heard from her father that the tidings had
been told to her lover, but she heard no more.
Mr. Owen did not show himself at the house ;
and she, indeed, hardly expected that he should
do so. Her stepmother suddenly became
gracious, — having no difficulty in explaining
that she did so because of the altered position
of things.

202 COUSIN HENRY.

"My dearest Isabel, it does make sucli a
difference ! ^' she said ; " you will be a ricli
lady, and will never have to think about the
price of shoes /^ The sisters were equally
plain-spoken, and were almost awe-struck in
their admiration.

Three or four days after the return of Mr.
Brodrick, Isabel took her bonnet and shawl,
and walked away all alone to Mr. Owen^s
lodgings. She knew his habits, and was aware
that he was generally to be found at home for
an hour before his dinner. It was no time,
she said to herself, to stand upon little punc-
tilios. There had been too much between them
to let there be any question of a girl going
after her lover. She was going after her lover,
and she didn't care who knew it. Nevertheless,
there was a blush beneath her veil as she asked
at the door whether Mr. Owen was at home.
Mr. Owen was at home, and she was shown at
once into his parlour.

" William,^' she said ; — throughout their

203

intimacy slie had never called him William
before ; — ^'you have heard my news ? '^

^' Yes/' he said, " I have heard it ;'' — very
seriously, with none of that provoking smile
with which he had hitherto responded to all
her assertions.

" And you have not come to congratulate
me ? '^

'^ I should have done so. I do own that I
have been wrong.''

^' Wrong ; — very wrong ! How was I to
have any of the enjoyment of my restored
rights unless you came to enjoy them with
me?"

^' They can be nothing to me, Isabel."

" They shall be everything to you, sir."

'^ No, my dear."

''They are to be everything to me, and
they can be nothing to me without you.
You know that, I suppose?" Then she
waited for his reply. ''You know that, do
you not ? You know what I feel about that,

204 COUSIN HENRY.

I saj. Why do you not tell me ? Have you
any doubt ? '^

'^Things have been unkind to us^ Isabel,
and have separated us/^

^'^ Nothing shall separate us." Then she
paused for a moment. She had thought
of it all, and now had to pause before she
could execute her purpose. She had got
her plan ready, but it required some courage,
some steadying of herself to the work before she
could do it. Then she came close to him, — close
up to him, looking into his face as he stood
over her, not moving his feet, but almost retreat-
ing with his body from her close presence.
^^ William, '^ she said, '' take me in your arms
and kiss me. How often have you asked me
during the last month ! Now I have come for

it :'

He paused a moment as though it were possi-
ble to refuse, as though his collected thoughts
and settled courage might enable him so to
outrage her in her petition. Then he broke

205

dowrij and took her in his arms^ and pressed
her to his bosom^ and kissed her hps, and her
forehead^ and her cheeks, — while she, having
once achieved her purpose, attempted in vain
to escape from his long embrace.

'^ Now I shall be your wife/' she said at last,
when her breath had returned to her.

" It should not be so.'^

" Not after that ? Will you dare to say so
to me, — after that ? You could never hold up
your head again. Say that you are happy.
Tell me that you are happy. Do you think
that I can be happy unless you are happy with
me ? '' Of course he gave her all the assurances
that were needed, and made it quite un-
necessary that she should renew her prayer.

'^ And I beg, Mr. Owen, that for the future
you will come to me, and not make me come
to you.'' This she said as she was taking her
leave. " It was very disagreeable, and very
wrong, and will be talked about ever so much.
Nothing but my determination to have my

206 COUSIN HENRY.

own way could have made me do it/^ Of
course lie promised her that there should be no
occasion for her again to put herself to the
same inconvenience.

207

CHAPTER XII.

CONCLUSION.

Isabel spent one pleasant week with lier lover
at Hereford_, and then was summoned into Car-
marthenshire. Mr. Apjohn came over at her
father^s invitation, and insisted on taking her
back to Llanfeare.

'' There are a thousand things to be done/'
he said, '^and the sooner you begin to do them
the better. Of course you must live at the old
house, and you had better take up your habita-
tion there for a while before this other change
is made.''' The other change was of course
the coming marriage, with the circumstances of
which the lawyer had been made acquainted.

208 COUSIN HENRY.

Then there arose other questions. Should
her father go with her or should her lover ?
It was, however, at last decided that she should
go alone as regarded her family, but under the
care of Mr. Apjohn. It was she who had been
known in the house, and she who had better
now be seen there as her nucleus representa-
tive.

" You will have to be called Miss Jones,"
said the lawyer, " Miss Indefer Jones. There
will be a form, for which we shall have to pay,
I am afraid ; but we had better take the name
at once. You will have to undergo a variety
of changes in signing your name. You will
become first Miss Isabel Brodrick Indefer
Jones, then Mrs. William Owen, then, when
he shall have gone through the proper changes,
Mrs. William Owen Indefer Jones. As such
I hope you may remain till you shall be known
as the oldest inhabitant of Carmar then-
shire. '^

Mr. Apjohn took her to Carmarthen, and

CONCLUSION. 209

hence on to Llanfeare. At tlie station there^
were many to meet ber, so that her triumph,
s she got into the carriage,, was almost pain-
ful to her. When she heard the bells ring from
the towers of the parish churches, she could
hardly believe that the peals were intended to
welcome her back to her old home. She was
taken somewhat out of her way round by the
creek and Coed, so that the little tinkling of
her own parish church might not be lost
upon her. If this return of hers to the
estate was so important to others as to justify
these signs, what must it be to her and how
deep must be the convictions as to her own
duties ?

At the gate of Coed farmyard the carriage
stopped, and the old farmer came out to say a
few words to her. • •

" God bless you, Miss Isabel ; this is a happy
sight to see.^^

'' This is so kind of you, Mr. Griffith."

f f WeVe had a bad time of it. Miss Isabel ;

VOL. II. p

210 COUSIN HENRY.

— not that we wished to quarrel with your dear
uncle's judgment, or that we had a right to
say much against the poor gentleman who has
gone; — but we expected you, and it went
against the grain with us to have our expecta-
tions disappointed. We shall always look up to
you, miss ; but, at the same time, I wish you
joy with all my heart of the new landlord you're
going to set over us. Of course that was to
be expected, but you'll be here with us all the
time." Isabel, while the tears ran down her
cheeks, could only press the old man's hand at
parting.

^^ Now, my dear," said Mr. Apjohn, as they
went on to the house, "he has only said justwhat
we've all been feeling. Of course it has been
stronger with the tenants and servants than
with others. But all round the country it has
been the same. A man, if an estate belong to
himself personally, can do what he likes with
it, as he can with the half-crowns in his
pocket ; but where land is concerned, feelings

CONCLUSION. 211

grow up whicli should not be treated rudely.
Ill one sense Llanfeare belonged to your uncle
to do what he liked with it^ but in another
sense he shared it only with those around him;
and when he was induced by a theory which
he did not himself quite understand to bring
your cousin Henry down among these people,
he outraged their best convictions.'^

^^He meant to do his duty, Mr. Ap-
john/'

" Certainly ; but he mistook it. He did not
understand the root of that idea of a male heir.
The object has been to keep the old family,
and the old adherence s, and the old acres
together. England owes much to the manner
in which this has been done, and the custom as
to a male heir has availed much in the doing
of it. But in this case, in sticking to the cus-
tom, he would have lost the spirit, and, as far
as he was concerned, would have gone against
the practice which he wished to perpetuate.
There, my dear, is a sermon for you, of
P 2

212 COUSIN HENRY.

wbicli, I dare say, you do not understand a
word/'

*^ I understand every syllable of it, Mr. Ap-
jolin/' she answered.

They soon arrived at the house, and there
they found not only Mrs. Griffith and the old
cook, who had never left the premises, but the
old butler also, who had taken himself off in
disgust at Cousin Henry's character, but had
now returned as though there had been no
break in his continuous service. They received
her with triumphant clamours of welcome. To
them the coming of Cousin Henry, and the
death of the old Squire, and then the depar-
ture of their young mistress, had been as
though the whole world had come to an end
for them. To serve was their only ambition, —
to serve and to be made comfortable while they
were serving ; but to serve Cousin Henry was
to them altogether ignominious. The old
Squire had done something which, though they
acknowledged it to be no worse on his part

• CONCLUSION. 213

than a mistake^ had to them been cruelly
severe. Suddenly to be told that they were
servants to such a one as Cousin Henry, — ser-
vants to such a man without any contract or
agreement on their part ; — to be handed over
like the chairs and tables to a disreputable
clerk from London, whom in their hearts they
regarded as very much inferior to themselves !
And they, too, like Mr. Griffith and the ten-
ants, had been taught to look for the future
reign of Queen Isabel as a thing of course.
In that there would have been an implied con-
tract, — an understanding on their part that
they had been consulted and had agreed to this
destination of themselves. But Cousin Henry !
Now this gross evil to themselves and to all
around them had been remedied, and justice
was done. They had all been strongly con-
vinced that the Squire had made and had left
behind him another will. The butler had been
quite certain that this had been destroyed by
Cousin Henry, and had sworn that he would

214 COUSIN HENEY.

not stand behind the chair of a felon. The
gardener had been equally violent^ and had
declined even to cut a cabbage for Cousin
Henry^s use. The women in the house had
only suspected. They had felt sure that
something was wrong, but had doubted be-
tween various theories. But now everything
was right ; now the proper owner had come ;
now the great troubles had been vanquished_,
and Llanfeare would once again be a fitting
home for them.

'^ Oh, Miss Isabel ! oh. Miss Isabel ! '^ said
Mrs. Griffith, absolutely sobbing at her young
mistress's feet up in her bed-room ; '' I did say
that it could never go on like that. I did use
to think that the Lord Almighty would never
let it go on like that ! It couldn't be that Mr.
Henry Jones was to remain always landlord
of Llanfeare.^'

When she came downstairs and took her seat,
as she did by chance, in the old arm-chair
which her uncle had been used to occupy, Mr.

CONCLUSION. 215

Apjolin preaclied to her another sermon, or
rather sang a loud paean of irrepressible
delight.

^' Now, my dear, I must go and leave you, —
happily in your own house. You can hardly
realize how great a joy this has been to me, —
how great a joy it is/'

^^ I know well how much we owe you.''

^^ From the first moment in which he inti-
mated to me his wish to make a change in his
will, I became so unhappy about it as almost
to lose my rest. I knew that I went beyond
what I ought to have done in the things that I
said to him, and he bore it kindly."

" He was always kind."

"But I couldn't turn him. I told him what
I told you to-day on the road, but it had no
efiect on him. Well, I had nothing to do but to
obey his orders. This I did most grudgingly.
It was a heart-break to me, not only because of
you, my dear, but for the sake of the property,
and because I had heard something of your

216 COUSIN HENEY.

cousin. Then came the rumour of this last
will. He must have set about it as soon as
you had left the house/^

'^ He never told me that he was going to do
it."

'^ He never told any one j that is quite cer-
tain. But it shows how his mind must have
been at work. Perhaps what I said may have
had some effect at last. Then I heard from
the Cantors what they had been asked to do.
I need not tell you all that I felt then. It
would have been better for him to send for
me.^'

^^ Oh, yes.''

" So much better for that poor young man's
sake." The poor young man was of course
Cousin Henry. " But I could not interfere.
I could only hear what I did hear, — and wait.
Then the dear old man died I "

" I knew then that he had made it."

^*You knew that he had thought that he
had done it ; but how is one to be sure of the

CONCLUSION. 217

vacillatirg mind of an old dying man ? When
we searched for the one will and read the
other, I was very sure that the Cantors had
been called upon to witness his signature.
Who could doubt as to that ? But he who had
so privately drawn out the deed might as pri-
vately destroy it. By degrees there grew upon
me the conviction that he had not destroyed
it ; that ifc still existed, — or that your cousin
had destroyed it. The latter I never quite
believed. He was not the man to do it, —
neither brave enough nor bad enough.'^

" I think not bad enough/'

'^ Too small in his way altogether. And yet
it was clear as the sun at noonday that he was
troubled in his conscience. He shut himself
up in his misery, not knowing how strong a
tale his own unhappiness told against him.
Why did he not rejoice in the glory of his
position ? Then I said to myself that he was
conscious of insecurity.^^

'^ His condition must have been pitiable."

218 COUSIN HENEY.

'^ Indeed, yes. I pitied him from the bot-
tom of my heart. The contumely with which
he was treated by all went to my heart even
after I knew that he was misbehaving. I knew
that he was misbehaving ; — but how ? It could
only be by hiding the will, or by being con-
scious that it was hidden. Though he was a
knave, he was not cunning. He failed utterly
before the slightest cunning on the part of
others. When I asked him whether he knew
where it was hidden, he told a weak lie, but told
the truth openly by the look of his eyes. He
was like a little girl who pauses and blushes and
confesses all the truth before she half murmurs
her naughty fib. Who can be really angry with
the child who lies after that unwilling fashion ?
I had to be severe upon him till all was made
clear; but I pitied him from the bottom of
my heart.^'

^^ You have been good to all of us.''
" At last it became clear to me that your
uncle had put it somewhere himself. Then

CONCLUSION. 219

came a chance remembrance of the sermons
he used to read, and by degrees the hiding-
place was suggested to me. When at last he
welcomed us to go and search in his nucleus
bed-room, but forbade us to touch anything in
the book-room, — then I was convinced. I had
but to look along the shelves till I found the
set, and I almost knew that we had got the
prize. Your father has told you how he flew
at me when I attempted to lift my hand to the
books. The agony of the last chance gave
him a moment of courage. Then your father
shook the document out from among the
leaves."

" That must have been a moment of triumph
to you,''

" Yes ; — it was. I did feel a little proud of
my success. And I am proud as I see you sit-
ting there, and feel that justice has been done.'^

" By your means ! ''

'' That justice has been done, and that every
one has his own again. I own to all the

220 COUSIN HENEY.

litigious pugnacity of a lawyer. I live by sucli
fightings and I like it. But a case in which I
do not believe crushes me. To have an injus-
tice to get the better of, and then to trample
it well under foot, — that is the triumph that I
desire. It does not often happen to a lawyer to
have had such a chance as this, and I fancy that it
could not have come in the way of a man who
would have enjoyed it more than I do." Then
at last, after lingering about the house, he bade
her farewell. " God bless you, and make you
happy here, — you and your husband. If you
will take my advice you will entail the property.
You, no doubt, will have children, and will take
care that in due course it shall goto the eldest
boy. There can be no doubt as to the wisdom
of that. But you see what terrible misery may
be occasioned by not allowing those who are
to come after you to know what it is they are
to expect.""

For a few weeks Isabel remained alone at
Llanfeare, during which all the tenants came

CONCLUSION. 221

to call upon her, as did many of the neighbour-
ing gentry.

^^ I knowM it/' said young Cantor, clenching
his fist almost in her face. ^' I was that sure
of it I couldn^t hardly hold myself. To think
of his leaving it in a book of sermons ! '^

Then, after the days were past during which
it was thought well that she should remain at
Llanfeare to give orders, and sign papers, and
make herself by very contact with her own
property its mistress and owner, her father
came for her and took her back to Hereford.
Then she had incumbent upon her the other
duty of surrendering herself and all that she
possessed to another. As any little interest
which this tale may possess has come rather
from the heroine's material interests than from
her love, — as it has not been, so to say, a love
story, — the reader need not follow the happy
pair absolutely to the altar. But it may be
said, in anticipation of the future, that in due
time an eldest son was born, that Llanfeare

222 COUSIH HENEY.

was entailed upon him and his son, and that he
was so christened as to have his somewhat
grandiloquent name inscribed as William Ap-
john Owen Indefer Jones.

THE END.

LONDON ;
GILJ3ERT AND EJVINGTON, PRINTEES,

ST. John's square.

yO